Animal I Have Become
by Akimi Kono
Summary: John Ryder is sick, but he can't help it. He also can't help that he really likes this young girl he's just met. And, no, her name's not Grace. John Ryder/OC Hitcher, 2007 R&R! Sum. subject to change. Long first chapter! Possible clash w/ movie. Enjoy!
1. You picked up a Stranger, Girls

6/13/11 - 8/31/11

**A/N:** Maybe a little bit of OOCness, but, hey, it's my story. I could make this take place in Wonderland and make John Ryder look like Steve Carrell (ew, no, I wouldn't do that). Anyways, DISCLAIMER: I don't own the movie, the characters, actors, etc. etc. It'd be nice if I did though. ;P It's a shame that I never watched this movie when they still played it on SciFi. Now I feel like an idiot. Enjoy. :)

**P.S.** A little OOCness is good now and then.

**Summary (for this chapter):** A look into what happens when teens, or anyone for that matter, picks up a hitchhiker. The family is oblivious to what has happened and will not be informed until long after the incidents. But that's how he likes it. Unfortunately, this batch of victims isn't too well equipped with men's driver licenses - ergo, he remains John Ryder.

* * *

><p><em>January 17 - Edith Adams goes to a sleepover at Rachel Stewart's house in preparation for trip<em>

_January 18 - Edith, Rachel, Veronica Hebert, Shelby Jones and Susanna Daniels finalize plans for said trip_

_January 19 - Edith, Rachel, Veronica, Shelby, Susanna leave Houston, TX at 5:39pm (a little later than planned, but not everything goes as planned)_

_ January 19, 7:30pm - As they pass into an unknown town in Texas, Edith notices that the car is running low on gasoline_

_ January 19, 7:59pm - Rachel stops at a gas station; everyone goes inside to get something to eat_

_ January 19, 8:15pm - A man comes into the gas station and asks the clerk if he can call a tow truck, then casually greets Shelby and Veronica_

_ January 19, 8:20pm - Shelby and Veronica can't decide whether to tell Rachel about the man or to just ignore him_

_ January 19, 8:22pm - They decide to tell Rachel, who promptly decides to offer the man a ride; it's her "good deed for the day"_

_ January 19, 8:25pm - The man thanks them, then introduces himself; Edith is somewhere else in the gas station so she misses the social gathering_

_ January 19, 8:30pm - Edith joins the group and meets the man_

_ January 19, 8:31pm - The man introduces himself to her; "Hi," he says, "I'm John Ryder."_

"Hi," Edith replied quietly, smiling softly. She was never quite sure of how to greet strangers, and certainly not ones that had just been offered a ride in her friend's car.

The man stared at her, narrowing his eyes like he was studying her. She shifted on her feet and cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact. She was very uncomfortable.

"You're in high school, right?" he asked. What a strange question. Was he hinting at something?

"Yes, we all are," Rachel piped up, "but you might have noticed that Edy is the youngest of us all... She's in her second year of high school - a sophomore."

"The youngest?" John replied, looking at Rachel. "I thought she was older than all of you."

"Really? Oh..." Rachel glanced at Edith, an embarrassed look crossing her face. "I thought you were looking at her because you couldn't believe she was in high school... 'cuz she looks so young."

"Oh, no.. I thought she was in college." He turned his gaze back to Edith, tilting his head to the side, "You sure you're in high school? You're not _lying_ to me, are you?"

Edith suddenly felt a bit nervous. She began rocking back and forth on her feet, "No, sir. Why would we lie to you?"

"It's easy to lie to a stranger. To someone you've just met."

An awkward silence ensued. Everyone felt a strange atmosphere in the gas station. Everyone was uncomfortable. Everyone except for John Ryder. He seemed perfectly at ease among the five teen girls. Rachel cleared her throat, catching all of the girls' attention.

"Well, I guess we'd better get going. I don't want to be on the road so late, you know?"

"I understand," John said, a slight smile on his lips, "that can be very dangerous."

"Right..." Rachel sighed, then gave a half-hearted smile. It seemed that no matter what, the awkward air wouldn't lift. It seemed that this Mr. John Ryder was keeping the uncomfortableness around. He was holding it down on purpose. Did he like to see these girls squirm?

Edith shuddered involuntarily, feeling a cold draft ride up her spine. There was just something wrong about that man. Even though he was smiling kindly at them and hadn't done anything (yet) that was strange, it was just the aura of him that signaled something wasn't quite right.

"So, where exactly are you heading?" Rachel asked, suddenly realizing that she had neglected to ask where the man was going before offering him a ride.

"Just into the next town. The clerk said there is a motel there. I'll stay there until I can get my car towed."

"Oh, well that's fine. We can do that," Rachel smiled happily, relieved she wouldn't have to go back on her word and leave the man at the gas station.

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Yeah, totally. It's not a problem."

"Great."

* * *

><p>Shelby, Veronica, Edith and Susanna all piled into the backseat of the car (in that order). In most situations, the stranger would sit in the back (since he was an uninvited guest he wouldn't have to be treated kindly or offered shotgun), but the girls didn't feel like squeezing in next to a hitchhiker in the car. Rachel sat in the front seat, driving, and John Ryder sat in the passenger seat. It was actually a good seating arrangement, except the backseat wasn't meant for four teen girls. They were just lucky that all their luggage had fit into the trunk and hadn't needed to be placed inside the car.<p>

Edith glanced out the window, over Susanna's head, at the gas station. As Rachel pulled out, the building fell away. For a moment it looked like someone was watching them...then Edith realized someone _was_ watching them. It was the clerk. He was leaning over the counter, staring outside at the car. He held a phone to his ear. Suddenly he dropped the phone, ran around the counter and came outside. He was shouting something at them, but it was impossible to hear. He began to jump up and down and point at their car, then he tried to run after them.

"I think he wants to tell us something," Edith said, watching the man sprint after the car. Susanna turned and watched out the window too, as did Shelby. Veronica watched out the back window.

"Should we stop?" Susanna asked, pressing a hand against the cool glass, "I mean, he looks pretty anxious."

"Did you forget to pay again, Rachel?" came Shelby's half-joke, mostly-serious question.

"No. It must be something else. _Should_ I stop?" Rachel glanced back at the girls in the rear, but they weren't paying attention to her. All of them were fixated on the man desperately trying to reach them. It was kind of like a movie, or a game. In a movie, the character runs after the car... sometimes he reached it, other times he didn't. It could have been like a dream. No matter how fast you were running, it was never fast enough.

The girls watched as the lights of the gas station faded away, engulfed in darkness. Still, they could see the silhouette of the man running after them.

Realizing no one was going to answer her, Rachel stated mostly to herself, "I'll just pull over to the side ... see what he wants to say -"

"Don't stop."

Rachel's head snapped to the side from where the voice came from. She looked at John Ryder who was calmly staring out the windshield. He tilted his head to the side a bit but never took his gaze from the glass. She felt a sudden chill run up her spine and goose bumps dotted her arms.

She didn't get a chance to say anything, or _do_ anything before he spoke again:

"Don't stop."

His deep voice in the dark car make her feel like she had been kidnapped. Suddenly she regretted ever talking to this man. She should have just left well enough alone. He could have walked to the next town, no matter how far it was.

Rachel turned her eyes back to the road and quietly recited to herself, "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay." but for some reason, it wasn't helping. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, ready to slam on the brakes at any moment. She didn't dare to speak to him, but she wanted to see just one more time.. she glanced at him. He looked down at his lap, his hands folded neatly. There were a few streetlamps that were spaced unevenly alongside the road. Their lights shined down onto the black pavement. They were there just until the road widened and turned from a two-lane, accident-prone stretch of asphalt into a four-lane, rarely-used highway. From there it was a black expanse of nothingness. Only headlights and taillights glittered quietly in the dark. From the beam of one of these lights, something shined on John's hand. She turned back to the road but quickly glanced again when they passed another light.

She realized that it was a wedding ring; a silver band. She suddenly felt so silly for doubting the man. In an instant, a thousand explanations came into Rachel's head. She laughed mentally, and told herself, "He told me not to stop because he wants to get to the motel so he can call his wife - say that he's all right. I'm sure he's anxious to get home, just like how we're all anxious to get on vacation." She smiled a little bit and shook her head. "Silly me. I'm so paranoid."

"Where," came the voice, interrupting her thoughts, and surprising her quite badly, "are you girls headed?"

"We're going on a trip. It's kind of like a little vacation for us. We were all studying really hard for tests in school, and most of us did really well so they gave us time off. Isn't that strange? A week off from school because we did well on a test - if only they did that for every test. Anyways, we _were_ going to go down to Corpus Christi, but it was a long drive. I guess we're just going to drive and see where that gets us."

"Sounds like fun."

"Yeah, really. It took us forever, though, to convince Edy's parents to let her come with us. They thought because she's so young, something might happen to her. But we all promised to look after her - she's like our little sister."

John glanced at Rachel and then turned and look at the girls in the backseat. Shelby and Veronica were playing with their Nintendo DSLites, Susanna was staring out the window and listening to music, but Edith was sitting quietly in the center, doing nothing. He looked at her, and she looked at him. She smiled shyly at him unsure of what to do. He smiled back and then turned around.

"How long have you known them?"

"Oh, geez. I met Veronica and Shelby in second grade, Susanna in fourth... there is another of us, Katie. We've known her since fifth grade. She couldn't come though. She's preparing for exams and stuff - I think she'll be taken into college early. And we've known Edy since eighth grade. She was always shy, always quiet..." Rachel gazed in the rearview mirror and smiled at Edith. Edith smiled back uncertainly and then turned to look out Susanna's window. "She's super nice, though. Never says anything mean about anybody. Even though she's the youngest she looks out for everybody."

"Does she look out for everybody all of the time?"

"Well, yeah..."

John said nothing. He looked out his window.

"So..." Rachel began a new conversation, "where are you headed? I mean, where were you headed? Before your car broke down."

"I was heading towards Phoenix Arizona."

"Oh, wow. That's a long drive from here."

"Yeah, it is."

"Aw, and your car broke down!"

"As luck would have it."

"Well that's too bad. I guess it's lucky we ran into you, then?"

"Yeah... "

For some reason it seemed like Mr. John Ryder wasn't too interested in conversation, but Rachel was trying to keep him talking. Maybe she was nervous and wanted to be sure she knew what he was doing at all times - kind of like how cops want you to put your hands in the air.

"So, how long have you been married to your wife?"

John laughed softly and then looked at his hand. He touched the ring, twirling it in circles.

"I don't have a wife."

Another chill ran up Rachel's spine, but she knew that the benefit of the doubt belonged to the stranger. She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. When she did so, she heard the sound of her skin peeling away from the leather. Had she been holding onto it for that long? That tightly? She wiped the palms of her hands on her jeans. Maybe it was just because she was sweating.

"I'm so sorry," she said carefully, too afraid to see his reaction, "you lost her?"

Another soft laugh. "I never had one to begin with."

Again, "I'm sorry," then, "if you don't want to talk about it, I understand."

"You don't get it, do you?"

"I'm not sure I -"

In an instant he had pulled out a pocketknife and was pressing the blade against her throat, just under her jaw. "You think if you keep talking you can avoid it? It's too late for that. You picked up a stranger. This is what happens."

Rachel's grip on the wheel tightened again. She felt cold all over. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and pooled over, running down her cheeks. "What - What are you doing?"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Her mouth clamped shut at that.

It took a moment before anyone else in the car realized what was going on. Edith had fallen asleep but was quickly awoken from upset cries from the rest of the car. Her eyes shot open and she jolted upwards.

"What's wrong?"

She had just finished asking when she _saw_ what was wrong. The man in the front seat, the stranger, the hitchhiker, had a knife pulled on Rachel. Edith's heart pounded hard in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. It seemed to be a dream. That was it; this was a dream and she'd wake up soon. But the frantic protests of the other girls made her realize that it wasn't a dream. This was real.

Susanna pulled the earbuds out of her ears and sat up straight, "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

John pressed the blade harder against Rachel's throat. The girl let out a soft whimper and more tears rolled down her face.

"If I kill her, you all die. There's no one to control the car. You'll crash."

"Wha - hey!" Veronica shouted, "You'll die too! You're in the car!"

It sounded as if he laughed a third time but he didn't answer them.

"Don't hurt her!"

"What are you doing! Are you insane?"

"Leave her alone!"

Everyone's exclamations had melded together into one long plead not to hurt Rachel. Even Edith was protesting, but quietly and less enthusiastically than the others. She watched the two in the front seat, the one driving and the one with the knife. Rachel shuddered and let out a stifled sob. John watched Rachel carefully...then turned his gaze towards Edith. She shrunk back but not quick enough. She was soon being held around the neck by the arm of John. The knife was pressed against her own throat.

The three girls in the back screamed at the same time.

"What are you doing?"

Edith was too scared to try to pry his arm off. She just sat there, halfway between the back and front seat. The cold blade was pushed upwards underneath her jaw.

"I'll kill her first and you'll all have to watch."

Shelby shrieked. "No, please! Don't hurt her! Don't hurt Edy!"

John readjusted his stranglehold on the girl, brushing his fingers across her jaw and cheek. "You don't want her to die?"

"No!" they all exclaimed at once.

"Then..." he looked at Susanna but kept the knife to Edith's throat. "All you have to say is four little words."

"What?"

"Say them and Edith lives."

"Wha... o-okay, fine. Fine!"

"Say, 'I want to die'."

Susanna's face transformed first to one that was scared and then to one that was horrified. She was silent as she stared at John.

"Say it."

"No! No, Susanna! Don't do it! Don't say it!" Edith shouted, trying not to squirm.

"You better hope she says it," he said, sliding the knife horizontally. Edith felt a few drops of blood trickle down her throat. She closed her eyes tightly and fought back tears.

"Please, don't say it Susanna..."

"No, _do_ say it, Susanna."

The teen stared in shock at the man and her friend. Edith couldn't see her, but she knew she was scared to death. They all were. Susanna swallowed hard, her throat dry, and pushed strands of her dirty blonde hair out of her face. "I..."

"No!" Edith squealed. John removed the blade from her throat and forcefully flipped her so she was on her back. His arm was still around her throat and he forced her to look at Susanna.

"You better hurry up, Susanna. The longer you take the more I'm thinking about going back on my word."

Susanna swallowed again. She didn't want to die - who wanted to die? But she had to do it. She had to. For Edith.

Edith's wide eyes caught the gaze of Susanna. She tried to shake her head but it was nearly impossible. "Don't do it, Suze. Don't. Please, I'm okay - don't say it."

The blonde's eyes darted back and forth to Edith's. Tears began to dot the corners of her eyes so she blinked them away. Edith watched in horror as her friend took a deep breath and spoke:

"I ... want ... " she hesitated, gave Edith one last look and finished her sentence, "...to die."

Before either of them could do anything, John had taken the knife and slashed her across the throat. Susanna grabbed uselessly at her neck, trying to stop the bleeding. She let out a gurgling whimper and blood oozed from her lips and over her hands. Red liquid trickled from between her fingers, all over the front of her shirt.

"No!" Edith's scream was almost too high to hear.

The man tightened his grip and placed the bloodied knife back against her throat. "You might want to shut up."

Edith squeezed her eyes shut and tears beaded around the edges. She took a shuddering breath in and felt the cold metal forced upon her neck.

"All right," he said, looking at the other girls in the backseat, a twisted smile seemingly hiding just behind his lips, "who's next?"

Veronica had her hands clamped over her mouth and was staring in panic at Susanna who lay against the window, quietly gurgling out her last breaths. Blood splattered onto the glass and onto her face.

Shelby's mouth hung open as she sobbed, angry and terrified of the man in the front seat. John turned his attention to Veronica. He tilted his head to the side slightly.

"I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

She looked at him in stunned silence.

"Don't say anything," Edith whispered.

"Don't listen to her. I'll figure your name out eventually - so you might as well tell me."

"No, don't."

Veronica's green eyes bubbled over with hot tears. Everyone's emotions were running high.

"M-My name is - "

"Don't!"

John shook Edith, "Let her finish."

"My name is ... Veron - "

"No!"

"Veronica."

John let out a breathy laugh. "Right. So... are you going to save your friend, too? Or did Susanna die for no reason?"

"Rachel why don't you do something?" Shelby screamed, kicking Rachel's seat. The other girl let out an upset shriek:

"I can't do _anything_!"

"Why don't _you_ do something?" John shot back at Shelby. She fell silent after that.

He turned his attention back to Veronica who had begun to shake. "Are you ready?"

She nodded.

"You know what to say."

Another nod. "I ... " She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. "I want to .. d-die."

John sat silently and watched Veronica. She sat, rocking with her eyes closed. When she realized nothing was happening she sniffled and looked up, "What - ?"

The knife was quickly thrust into her chest. She screamed and grabbed at the small handle which was sheathed in the stranger's palm. He withdrew the knife and then plunged it into her chest again. Blood spluttered out of her wounds and flowed down her stomach. When he pulled the knife out again, he did not stab her. She pressed her hands against the gashes in her chest, sobbing loudly. She flung her head down in pain.

Shelby screamed as well, her hands covered in Veronica's blood. She tried to help her, but Veronica pushed her away, falling onto Susanna's limp body. She coughed twice, blood spilled out of her mouth and then she hiccupped. She fell silent, her eyes glazed over then her body twitched. She had died fairly quickly. One of the knife wounds must have been to her heart.

Edith wailed loudly, blood covering the legs of her jeans. Some drops had managed to hit her face. John retracted the knife and looked at it, turning it from side to side. Then he put it to Edith's mouth, pressing the flat side against her bottom lip.

"This is all for you," he said. "This is your salvation."

The girl sputtered and tried to resist the blood dripping into her mouth but it was too hard to wriggle away from the strong hold John had on her.

"Only two left," John said as he removed the blade from Edith's mouth and wiped the blood on the thigh of his jeans, "so who goes next?"

"Please leave them alone!"

John looked down at Edith. "Are you feeling left out?"

Even though she was full of fear she glared at him.

"Don't worry. I'll get to you eventually." He looked at Shelby. "Are you next? I'm sure Rachel would appreciate it."

Shelby shook her head, "You're sick."

He scoffed. "It's you or Rachel."

She glowered at him though distraught. "You are _disturbed_."

He sighed. She was stalling. Wasting time.

"Why are you doing this?"

John gave a half-smile. "Why not?"

"What will you do to me if I refuse to say it? What will happen?"

"It'll be a lot slower."

Edith whimpered, "Just forget it, Shelby. Don't say anything. He's insane - !"

"I want to die."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

><p>"Do you think they got there safely?"<p>

"Don't worry about it, hon! Rachel is a responsible young woman. She wouldn't do anything foolish - she'd stop at a motel if she thought it was too dangerous to continue driving at night."

"I guess you're right. But I'm worried about the other girls."

"Listen to me. Veronica is smart and brave, Shelby and Susanna can make great decisions - they'll be fine. Trust me, I know these girls. I know my daughter and your daughter."

"But what about Jessica's daughter, Edith? She's so young ... she's just a baby, compared to all of the other girls."

"Edith is mature for her age. She can tell if something's wrong. She'll tell the other girls if she feels insecure about something. Jessica wouldn't have let her go if she didn't think she'd be safe. None of us would."

"I guess you're right Mary."

"I know I am. Now to even more important matters... Since all of us moms have time away from our teenage daughters, let's do something. Like our own vacation."

"I don't know..."

"Oh, come on!" Mary sipped at her coffee, smiling warmly at her friend. "We won't go to Hawaii or anything, but like a shopping spree, going out to lunch, maybe seeing a movie."

The other woman sighed, unsure. "It sounds good, but, Mary, it's ... "

"I know it's hard being away from them, Angie. I've had my baby girl with me all of my life, but it's only vacation. Them being away is like a break for us and at the same time it's getting us used to how it'll feel like once they're all in college." She sipped more of her coffee. "You need to get out."

Angela played with the handle of her coffee mug. "I know I do. Rachel is 17 .. I know it's been 5 years since the divorce and Rachel's handled it well, but .. this empty nest thing has got me thinking ... I have too much free time now so ..."

"You didn't do anything wrong. You left David, okay? Rachel has no problem with it. She's even asked if you'd start dating again."

"Ugh. I don't even want to think about that right now."

Mary laughed. "Yeah, okay, fine. But promise me you'll think about us girls getting together?"

Angela sighed, "All right. I'll think about it."

"Good." Mary patted Angela's cold hand, "Now I hate to leave but there's business to attend to. I told Shelby to call me at home, so there might be a message. And I have a couple of things for work that I have to get done."

"I thought you'd finished for the weekend."

"It's just last minute stuff."

"You promise that you won't end up doing all of next weeks paperwork tonight?"

"I promise."

"Okay. Drive safe."

"I will." Mary picked up her purse and headed towards the door. She took her jacket off of the coat rack and pulled it on, buttoning it up to her throat. She shrugged inside of the warm fabric, hiding her face against the large collars.

"See ya later, Angie!"

"You, too."

"Sweet dreams."

"Ditto."

Mary opened the door. Just before she stepped into the dark, Angie called out after her:

"Don't pick up any hitchhikers."

She laughed, "I won't."

* * *

><p>"Do you think Susanna is all right?"<p>

Mr. Daniels grunted a response and turned the page of his newspaper.

"I know she's with Rachel, but ... "

"Mhm." The paper rustled as he scanned the bold-text headlines.

"Was it a bad idea to let her go? Maybe one of us should have gone with them."

"Then it wouldn't be a vacation."

"I guess you're right."

"I know I am."

Mrs. Daniels rolled her eyes playfully and rested her head on her husband's shoulder. "What are you reading?"

"Look at this - " he folded the paper in half backwards and pointed out one of the headlines.

"What?" She peered at the paper.

In thick, black font the headline read:

"FAMILY OF FOUR DEAD IN AUSTIN, FOUND IN CAR OFF HWY"

Below it was an article of the incident and below that was a photo of the car. It was a station wagon that was run halfway off of the road at an angle. The front half was in a field of grass, the back half was still on the road. Behind the back wheels were dark tire treads where they had obviously tried to stop. The most obvious guess would be a car accident, but no part of the car (not that they could see) was damaged. It just looked like they had been driving and then skidded off of the road, but hadn't crashed into anything. It looked like dirt covered the back window.

"What does the caption say?"

Mr. Daniels cleared his throat and read aloud:

"The station wagon was found by highway patrol at 2:30pm on Sunday. Police say that the family inside was already dead when they got there. It appeared that all four had been stabbed to death."

Mrs. Daniels gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, "How terrible!"

Her husband went to the beginning of the article and began reading. "Sunday, a station wagon was found seemingly deserted along the highway. A passing patrol car stopped to check out the situation. When the officer stepped out of his car he could tell something was wrong.

" 'It was unnaturally quiet there,' said Officer Ramirez, the first one on the scene, 'Usually you hear birds, bugs, something. But when I was there, it was nothing. It was like even the animals knew there was something wrong there.'

"Officer Ramirez approached the car and asked for anyone in the car to step out with their hands up. There was no answer. Obviously there was no one in the car, but the closer he got the more he noticed a strange smell.

" 'It was coming from the car. It was apparent something was dead.' " He paused and glanced at his wife. She was staring with wide eyes at the paper - staring at the picture of the car.

"Ramirez reached the car and by that time the smell was almost unbearable. When he looked at the windows he saw that they were covered in blood. Something terrible had happened. Without thinking he pulled open the door to look for survivors. Instead what he got was a good look at a family butchered and dead.

" 'They had been sitting in the car for a couple of hours before I got there,' the officer said, 'and they were baking in the sun for all of that time. It wasn't a good thing to see.' "

"Oh, honey," Mrs. Daniels whispered, gripping her spouse's arm tightly.

"It's okay, Diane." He reached around her and hugged her shoulders. "It's all right."

She whimpered quietly. "It's not dirt on the window, is it?"

He shook his head, "No. It's not."

"It's blood isn't it?"

"Yes."

"...who was in the car?"

"I don't think - "

"Richard, please. Who was in the car?"

He cleared his throat and scanned the article. "The four were the Hutchinson family, from San Antonio. Those in the car were Keith Hutchinson, his wife Mary-Jane, his daughter Kelly and his son Kyle. According to a source close to the family, they were in Austin for Kyle's 7th birthday."

Diane squeezed Richard's arm.

"I want Susanna home."

"They're nowhere near Austin - "

"I want her home."

He inhaled deeply and leaned over to kiss her head. "I know you do. I do too."

* * *

><p>Jessica Adams skimmed through the newspaper. She hadn't had a chance to read any of it that morning, since she'd forgotten to set her alarm clock and ran late. Now it was nearly 6 or 7pm and she was just getting to the front page.<p>

"Hey, hon."

Jessica turned around when she heard her husband calling. He came into the kitchen where she was seated at the island. He tossed his keys on the island counter and kissed his wife's face.

"Hi," she said, smiling. "You're home earlier than you said you'd be."

"Yeah, I got my work done early."

She smiled, "Yeah, right. Tell me the truth."

He glanced over his shoulder at her as he walked to the refrigerator, "Well they did get an intern who helped ... some."

"That's what I thought."

Mr. Adams poured himself a glass of apple juice and sat down across from his wife. He sipped some, looking over the clear rim at his wife. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," she said, sighing. "It's just that Edith said she'd call me once they were at the hotel."

"And?"

"I haven't gotten a call yet. I'm starting to get worried. She's only 16."

"Don't worry about her, Jess. She's with Rachel, Veronica, Shelby and Susanna. You know those girls. They're all trustworthy. They're smart. You wouldn't let Edy go out with them if you didn't trust her friends... Besides, it's a vacation. Away from us. I know she said she'd call - maybe it was late. Or maybe she was tired. Maybe she tried to call and it was busy so she decided to wait until tomorrow."

Jessica looked at him, unconvinced.

"There's a ton of reasons why she didn't call. Don't worry so much about her. You'll be prematurely gray."

"Yeah, that's what a lady wants to hear."

He laughed softly, "Sorry. But .. just trust her, okay? You trusted her on a field trip with kids you never even met. Edy practically grew up with these friends. They're okay."

She sighed, "You promise, Rob?"

"Yes, I promise."

* * *

><p>The only ones that remained were John Ryder, Edith Adams and Rachel Stewart. Shelby lay lifeless among the other corpses in the backseat. The thick, coppery smell of blood filled the entire car. It made Edith sick but what really made her stomach churn was seeing her friends butchered in front of her. John wasn't exactly pleased with the way things were turning out. It was taking too long for all of these girls to die. He had known it would take a while to kill them all off but he didn't think it'd take <em>this<em> long. Honestly, he could have just finished the other two in a matter of minutes but that wouldn't have been fun. Half of the excitement was torturing them, seeing the look in their eyes when they know they're going to die. The other half was, obviously, the killing part. You had to have both. If you just had one or the other, it wasn't very entertaining.

Edith took a shaky breath in. "Why don't you just kill _us_?" She felt like crying but it seemed like all of her tears had been shed. There was nothing else she could do. She figured that the whole "pity party" attitude wouldn't work on Mr. John Ryder. It hadn't so far. Why would it work now?

John seemed impatient now for he grabbed the collar of Edith's shirt and pulled her up. Then he shoved her into the backseat. She landed atop her deceased friends. The girl quickly rolled around and tried to regain balance but by the time she did it was too late. John had grabbed Rachel's hand so she would remain holding the steering wheel but he kicked her feet off of the pedals. The car was coasting now while Rachel was forced to steer.

"Unlock the door," the man said. When Rachel whimpered instead of obeying, John squeezed her hand. She yelped as her hand turned white and then red. "Unlock the door," he repeated slowly.

Rachel quickly unlocked all of the doors with the press of a button. Her hand found its way back to the steering wheel. She stared ahead of her at the road; through tears she saw the yellow lines dictating the two separate lanes.

"What are you going to do?" Rachel foolishly asked. As soon as she spoke she regretted it. John smirked at her.

"Do you really want to know?"

Edith watched in silence, knowing there was nothing she could do. They would all go. One way or another, they would all perish by the hand of John Ryder. She doubted that was even his real name. But it didn't matter now. Soon it would all be over and she would be one of the cold, bleeding bodies that surrounded her. She didn't cry. She knew the outcome of it all, she knew the end to this story, but she didn't cry. Why should she? You can't cry over the inevitable. So she didn't cry when John sunk the blood-stained blade into Rachel's ribs, undoubtedly penetrating her lungs. She didn't cry when Rachel gasped for breath, her ragged pants a sure sign of pain. She didn't cry when John extended his leg and kicked open the unlocked driver's door and she didn't cry when John pushed Rachel, who was still alive, out of the moving car.

She didn't cry when John took his place in the driver's seat and slammed the door shut beside him. Then he pressed the brake, letting the car come to a slow crawl along the black pavement, and she didn't cry - she almost cried, though. But most importantly, she didn't cry when John turned around in his seat, stared intently into her eyes and said, "Your turn."


	2. Is John the Cat or Mouse in this game?

9/3/11 - 10/5/11

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Hitcher, the characters, title, idea, music, location of filming, cameras, actors, etc. etc. etc. etc. I wish I did but I don't. But then again, one can not own John Ryder. He wouldn't allow it. Or... would he? ;P FIRST DIBS!

**Other:** So, done away with the other four girls, John Ryder is on the move. Here he'll meet another likely victim...

**A/N:** Sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you like it. Been busy with school and crazy theatre people (I am one of them!).

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><p><em>Two Weeks Later<em>

Cat Bellamy hummed to herself as she rifled through the shelves of food. She had stopped at the gas station to fill up her tank but soon realized she was hungry. Guessing that there wasn't a McDonald's nearby she scurried into the store, hoping that she'd be in and out before the gas went over twenty dollars. Now she stood in the bagged chips and Slim Jim aisle, chewing on the egde of her fingernails and looking at the prices. She only had so much money with her for her trip. She had to be careful when purchasing food from a convenience store. It was way too easy to spend over $10 on just a couple of items.

The brunette finally, painfully, decided on a single-serving bag of SunChips and, wandering over to the chilled drink area, picked out a bottle of apple juice. The cashier behind the counter rang up both items and then, bagging them, proceeded to give Cat an intimate and detailed history of his life. She pretended to be interested even though the guy kind of creeped her out. He kept leaning closer, over the counter. Each time he did she leaned back so he righted himself. Once, he laughed loudly and Cat could smell the strong aroma of cigarette smoke and beer. She bit her tongue to keep from gagging.

As the cashier continued onto his 5th birthday party (where he was so rudely disqualified from musical chairs) another customer came into the store. The silver bells on the door rang cheerfully as the door opened and closed. Cat glanced over to see a man walk in. He was taller than her; older as well. She blushed hotly and looked away when the man looked at her. Her first thought was, "He's handsome."

The man stood a few feet behind her, waiting patiently. Cat quickly noticed this and was very thankful. She used it as a kind of way to get out of another long childhood story. She glimpsed over her shoulder at the man and exclaimed, "I'm sorry! Are you waiting for me?"

He smiled, "That's all right."

"Oh, um," she turned back to the other man, "thank you."

"Uh-huh," he said, prepared to continue his story. Unfortunately for him, Cat wasn't interested any longer and grabbed the black plastic bag off of the counter and stepped to the left. She smiled shyly at the stranger, "Go ahead."

"Thank you," he replied kindly and stepped up to the counter.

The young girl bit her bottom lip and looked at the ground. He really was handsome. And nice! But she couldn't become all gooey/love struck now. She didn't even know the man! Cat lifted her head up and nonchalantly stood there, listening to the conversation between the two men. To make it appear she wasn't listening she turned and fished through a container of Snickers and M&Ms that were on sale.

"Do you have a phone I can borrow?"

"Uh, long distance?"

"Kind of."

"No can do. Only got one phone and it's only for callin' out to that buildin' over there, see?" He leaned over the counter and pointed out across the lot. There was a wooden shack across the road, a single light shining above the door. "That buildin' is for storage 'n keepin' things outta the way. Got too much stuff 'n 'ere and we take it all out to that." He paused for a moment then continued, "How far you callin'?"

"Not sure. I need to call a tow truck."

"Yer car broken down?"

"Unfortunately."

"Well shoot. That's there some bad luck. I'd call Ricky, he has the tow truck, but he's 60-summin' miles outta here. Motel's closer'n that." The cashier put his hands on his hips and looked over the man's shoulder at Cat.

"Hey! Come 'ere."

Cat hesitantly walked over to the counter. She glanced at the man beside her and her lips twitched in a smile. She wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to smile right now.

"Yes?"

"If'n you're goin' the same way as this guy..." he motioned towards the man - which was completely unnecessary since he was the only one he could have been talking about - then finished, "could ya give him a ride?"

She stared silently at the cashier. Inside she was horrified. The stupid cashier had just asked her to give a ride to a stranger. Yes, she thought him handsome, but a stranger he remained. If she said 'no' she'd look inconsiderate and selfish but who knows what would happen if she said 'yes'?

"No, that's all right. I can walk -"

"I'll give you a ride," Cat blurted out before she realized what she was saying. Now who was the stupid one?

"You sure?"

Just say no. Just say no. It was so easy; two little letters... one syllable. One word... No...

"Yeah, I mean I'm heading towards the motel anyways..."

He smiled again, "Thanks."

The cashier grinned, revealing gray gums and a missing tooth. "See? Now that wasn't so bad... you got a ride," he nodded to Cat, "and now you got some company."

The man looked at her, "You're alone?"

She started to get cold sweats. "Uh... yeah.. Is... is that bad?"

"No," he kind of laughed, "it's not bad..."

Cat noticed that the man looked like he had no intention of shopping around and he hadn't grabbed anything to purchase so she took that opportunity to speak up:

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah I think I ... " he glanced at the cashier who sniffled and shrugged, "I'm ready to go."

"Okay." The two started to exit when Cat suddenly remembered something. She stopped dead in her tracks and spun around. "The gas!"

"What?" The cashier looked stumped.

"I-I filled my car up! Ah! I never stopped it! I came in here.. geez, I don't know how much... I didn't pay for it yet."

"How much did ya get missy?"

"I dunno. I came in here without stopping it. I thought I'd be fast. It's probably up to $100 by now!"

"Dun worry 'bout that," the cashier drawled, "dem pumps out there stop at twenty-five dollars. Since we dun get much gasoline deliveries out 'ere we gotta make sure there's 'nuff for all 'em tourists that come through 'ere. We set li'l mechanisms in the pump to stop at twenty-five dollars' worth. If ya need more ya gotta use a dif'rent pump."

Cat sighed, relieved. "No, that's fine."

"Ya sure? It's a long while til there's another pump. Wouldn't want ya to run outta gas out there in the desert."

She shook her head, pulling out her wallet again. She placed twenty-five dollars on the counter, "Thanks... again."

"Sure thang missy."

Cat and her new companion stepped out of the service station. It had gotten significantly darker since she had entered the store. She hated the dark - at least when she was driving. She was half-glad to have someone with her on the otherwise lonely trip, even if that someone was someone she'd just met.

"Are you sure you have enough gasoline?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Well that cashier wasn't someone you'd want to be left alone with..."

Cat bit her lip again, this time to keep from laughing, "Yeah, really."

"But I agree with him. I'd hate for you to run out of gasoline in the middle of the desert at night."

"Yeah.. but I think I'm all right."

"Well, if you think so.."

Cat sat in near silence in the driver's seat of her cat. Her parents had bought it, a black 2004 Volvo S80, in anticipation of her receiving her driver's license. Since then she had driven several times to the store, library and, of course, school, but never on a trip. This was her first trip driving. Her first trip alone. She was scared to death (but not _that_ much since she still went on the trip), but she felt better knowing that she had passed Driver's Ed with flying colors. She just hoped the flying colors wouldn't end up being her car skidding off of the road and her being ejected from her seat.

Her new driving buddy sat beside her in the passenger seat. He seemed perfectly comfortable in the car while the young woman next to him was already freaking out. She'd driven her parents before and her friends - but never at night. She hoped that the man would at least keep his negative comments to himself ("constructive criticism" her aunt called it). She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and then started the car. The low rumbling pulsated through her foot and into her chest. To some people it was the feeling of freedom, it liberated them. To others it was the feeling of fear. To Spongebob it was the feeling of another chance to ultimately fail.

The two pulled out of the gas station and began the drive to the motel. They sat in silence for about 10 minutes before Cat spoke up.

"Where were you heading before your car broke down?"

"Austin."

"That's a ways from here."

"Yeah it is."

A moment of silence.

"Why were you going to Austin?"

"Family reunion."

"Oh, that's nice."

"Yeah. I don't know if I'll make it now."

The young brunette gave a sidelong glance at the stranger. He stared out the windshield, completely calm. He didn't seem to anxious about anything. Usually people whose cars break down and need a tow truck aren't so relaxed. It started to unnerve her then she thought she was being silly.

"I'm sorry," she said, cutting herself off and catching his attention. He looked at her so she turned her gaze back to the road. "I never even asked your name."

"My name is John."

"Oh, nice to meet you John. My name is Cat."

"Do you have a last name?"

"Do you?"

They both laughed lightly. Cat's face burned hot so she hid it by acting she was checking out her window for passing cars. She was terrible at hiding her true feelings. They always showed - in her actions, in her voice, on her face. But she was trying hard not to show her feelings around this man. It was hard, though when she was talking to him. This had been the longest two-way conversation she'd ever had with a stranger.

"Ryder," he said. "My name is John Ryder."

"I'm Cat Bellamy."

"Is 'Cat' short for something?"

"Uh, kind of. It's actually Catherine but Cat was easier to say... when I was younger."

"Hm."

Another moment of silence but this one was awkward.

"So... where are you from?" She thought that perhaps the drive would go by quicker if they talked. Was it working so far? She couldn't tell. For all she knew she was annoying Mr. Ryder with the constant chatter.

John instantly replied in a tone that must have originated from his answering the question a million times. "All over."

"Oh.. I-I'm from Georgia originally but when I was 6 my parents moved us up to New Mexico. I should actually say 'over' not 'up'... Anyways, now I really _am_ heading up. North... Obviously. But it's only for vacation. School will start soon."

"I thought school was already in session."

"Oh, sorry. I mean for me. I only take a few selected classes in high school - just the required subjects, you know like Math - and then a couple of college classes. I've got some free time."

"So you're in high school?"

"Yeah! Last year."

"Where do you plan on going to college?"

Cat shrugged, "I got a couple listed but I don't have just one specific one that I'm dying to get into."

John couldn't help but laugh softly at this expression. If Cat had any idea what John had planned for her, she wouldn't have used the word 'dying'. In fact, she would have skipped it all together. In all honestly, she would have never even picked him up.

"What? What's funny?"

"Nothing," he replied coolly, "just something I thought of."

"Oh. Okay."

John was surprised that Cat hadn't pressed the issue. Most girls are always trying to get you to say what you were thinking. But Cat seemed perfectly all right letting it go. He wondered if she was always like that or if she was just that way because he was a stranger. He decided he was going to test her.

"What's your favorite sport?"

"Oh, I don't really watch any sports."

"Huh. Do you play?"

"Only in my backyard." John noticed that she kind of smiled at him but when he did nothing the smile faded and she turned back to the road. She was trying to be nice. Would she be so nice after he pulled the pocketknife out on her?

"What about you?"

"No. I don't play... I sometimes watch football."

"I went to a football game once," the girl said. "Our team was pretty bad but I was still proud of them. Kind of have to, you know? It'd be bad for their image if it got out that even their hometown didn't support them."

John nodded then another bought of silence followed. He glanced out the window just as they passed a sign that read "MOTEL 15 MILES". It wouldn't be long before they pulled into the town. If he was going to do this, he had to be fast. Once they got to town there would be too many people. Too many witnesses. Not that he ever cared about witnesses before.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Cat's face heated up. She had to take quiet, deep breaths in order to calm herself without looking like a fool. "Uh, no," her voice was high and squeaky. She cleared her throat and spoke again. "No. I actually, uh, broke up with my boyfriend a while ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she replied a bit too eagerly. She smiled at him when he looked at her. "I'm not."

"How long had you been dating?"

"18 months."

"Hm."

"I know."

"So... did you think he was 'The One'?"

"You know, I actually never thought that with him. Which makes it hard to understand why I stayed with him for so long. I mean, why date someone you have no intention of marrying?"

"Did he break up with you or did you break up with him?"

Cat thought it o be kind of a personal question but considering the questions he'd asked, the questions he _could have_ asked and that she'd only see the man for another 20 minutes it didn't really matter.

"I ended it. It was pretty hard at first but I knew it was for the better."

"Was he upset?"

"At first. But you know he got over it quickly. I saw him hitting on two different girls a couple of days later."

"That's nice."

"Yup. He was quite a guy." Cat rolled her eyes and laughed. John's skin prickled at the noise. It wasn't the usual high, annoying laughs that teen girls tended to have nor the stupid flirty one that girls used when around a guy. Hers was different. It was ... nice. She had laughed before but it was so quiet he hadn't heard it. He looked out the window again to see a sign that said "MOTEL 5 MILES". It was really cutting it close. He felt the pocketknife inside his jacket. In one swift motion, he could have pulled it out and finished the girl next to him. But ... he didn't. He ran his fingers along the knife, thinking how simple it was. Just take it out, scare her a little bit (or a lot), force her to say "I want to do" and then be done with her. But for some reason he couldn't bring himself to do it.

_'Stop being so sentimental'_he thought to himself. One real conversation with a person and he was getting cold feet. He hated it. He had to do it - he had to end her. In the distance he could see the lights of the town. It was so close. Now was the time. Now was the moment. He had to do it _now_.

Just as his fingers closed around the knife and he started to pull it out of his pocket, Cat interrupted.

"You know what my favorite movie is? 'The Hitcher' - you know, the one from the 80s. I watched it and that guy just totally freaked me out. I loved it! Even though it was scary..."

"You still picked me up."

"Yeah! Yeah I did."

"Why?"

Cat shrugged her slim shoulders. "I dunno. I guess I like to help people. I give them the benefit of the doubt."

John could now see the motel. All of its lights, the windows, the doors - even the lines in the parking lot designating an allotted space for cars. It actually wasn't too late yet. He could still do away with her...

"Well thank you," he said, "if you hadn't given me a ride, I would have never gotten here."

She smiled shyly at him, "You're welcome."

Even if she parked in the lot he could still get her. People tended to mind their own business at small-town motels. He once again started to pull his hand from his pocket. Cat's gaze fell to his hand.

"Wha-?"

John removed his hand from him pocket and flipped out his wallet. "I thought for a moment I'd left it in my car. I'd hate to have come here and not have any way to pay for a room."

"Oh, well, uh, I could have... paid for your room." Cat hoped John did have money to pay though because, honestly, she didn't have much left with her. John knew it, too. Just looking at her he could tell she didn't have all the money in the world. But for a split second he wished she did - but only for a second, then the feeling was gone.

The girl parked her car close to the lobby, the passenger's door facing the entrance.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

John opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. He glanced inside the glass doors at the front desk. A fat, balding man stood there, hunched over a newspaper. He turned around and stooped to look at Cat.

"You can leave." It was strange saying this. He had never once in his life uttered those words. Not once. He was actually unsure of the meaning.

"That's okay. I'll wait here until you get a room - I don't want you to be left here when they're not vacant."

John felt cold. No one had ever waited for him before. No one had ever considered him before. They all figured that he was a grown man and didn't need to be coddled. Sure there were those people who gave him rides but usually those didn't end well. They tended to stop being kind after he pulled out his knife. But this ... this was a new sensation. Someone being kind to him ... that _wanted_ to be kind? Someone that had no obligation to stay with him once he was out of the car? He wasn't sure of how to respond.

"...thanks."

"No problem."

The man hesitantly stood up and closed the door. He walked into the lobby and spoke with the clerk. Cat watched in silence as the two exchanged words. She wondered what they were saying. She hoped that the motel was vacant - otherwise she'd have to drive who-knows-how-many miles before she got to next town with a motel.

As she watched she noticed that John kept putting his hands in his pockets. She didn't know why exactly she but figured it must have been some kind of security thing. A type of security blanket. Her security "blanket" was the heart-shaped necklace she wore around her neck. She always had it on. When she was scared she'd hold onto it. It made her feel better.

Cat saw that the balding man nodded several times then said something. John took money from his wallet and placed it on the counter. The man shook his head and handed a few bills back to John. She could make out an "Are you sure?" and then the other man nodded. John offered the money again but the man put his hands up and refused so he put the bills back in his wallet. Then the man reached back to a corkboard and returned with a key.

They exchanged a few more words before John came out, smiling. Cat stared out the passenger's window patiently. He nodded towards her and flashed the keys. She smiled happily, glad he could get a room.

"Good luck!" she shouted.

He nodded again. She then waved and pulled the car away, driving slowly off towards the road. John watched in silence. There went the first person he'd met, hitchhiked with and hadn't killed. The first person he hadn't at least threatened. The first person who had been kind the entire car ride. The first person who answered every question he asked without becoming leery of him.

The first person he hadn't entirely _wanted_ to kill.

And that surprised him, a lot.


	3. I've Just seen a Face

**A/N: **OMG guys I'm back! I am SO sorry that my last update was OCTOBER 6TH 2011. I realize I'm one of _those_ authors; the kind that let their stories sit in purgatory while others are patiently waiting for them to update.

Anyways, I want to formally apologize for my long hiatus and just let you know that I NEVER STOPPED THINKING ABOUT THIS STORY. I had written bits and pieces of a 3rd chapter but 1) I spilled water on them and, 2) they were terrible. Then I had worked on it on my old computer and then, guess what? Techies "cleaned" my computer and deleted everything and then fried my motherboard. I had to start from scratch with EVERYTHING.

Now there's some things I need to get out of the way. Let me dust off my writing skills, polish the Disclaimer plaque and then we can get this show on the road!

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hitcher, its characters, its canon dialogue or plot. I am just using the main character and my OCs (which do belong to me) for my own entertainment purposes.**

**So without further ado, I present to you the newest chapter of Animal I Have Become. **

Quick P.S. I feel like this chapter is pushing us closer to a relationship between John and Cat. 3 Woo hoo!

Please enjoy it! I'm sorry it's a little short, I have to get used to writing again, especially such long chapters with these characters. I send you my love.

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><p>John couldn't stop thinking of the unusually kind girl he had met seemingly so long ago, although it'd been just around 3 days. Even when he was taunting and torturing people, his mind was busy thinking of her He didn't understand why. It wasn't normal for him to be so caught up in some... <em>girl<em>.

Just the fact that he didn't kill her was a huge surprise.

His mind was miles away every day. Every time he asked for a ride, every cut he inflicted on smooth skin, every threat he sang out was far away. His conscious mind was flittering around with that brunette woman in the black Volvo.

No. This wouldn't do. He didn't like her. He couldn't. It was unnatural. He chalked it up to frustration. It was just the thought of a _woman_ that had him feeling strange. Who knows when the last time he'd rolled around in bed with some sweet, pouty-lipped girl was? He tried to remember but nothing surfaced. Perhaps it'd been longer than he originally thought.

He couldn't tell if he was turned on by the thought of her under him, bleeding and crying with a blade pressed against her throat, or just the thought of her. Either way, it was getting annoying. He tried to distract himself by killing more often, faster, slower, slicing and dicing and stabbing and sticking, but no matter what he did, her face was in his mind. It was starting to make him angry. Why her? She was so average. She didn't have that big of breasts, she wasn't incredibly thin, she held her arms awkwardly, her hips were... okay, her hips were pretty nice. But she wasn't over-sexualized in any way. She looked like an average girl – she looked like a _nice_ girl, and that was the rub. He knew he'd never be able to get her.

But how did he want to get her? Get her in bed? Get her in line with his knife? Get her back into his life? He just knew that right now, he wanted to get her _out_ of his thoughts.

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><p>100 miles away, Cat had met up with her friends at a small hotel and were heading to the beach. The sky was overcast and a wind was picking up, but they all figured that it was the best time to go. Everyone had cleared out of the beach once the sun disappeared behind gray clouds, so they slipped on their sandals and trudged down the sand, eager for a few splashes in the water before they were rained out. As she kicked her foot out and splashed Ryan, she noticed someone else on the beach. She stared at them for a while, straining her eyes to see who they were.<p>

They wore heavy, dark clothes with a scarf over their head. They stood on the grassy hill that gradually sloped down into sand. Their skirt billowed in the growing wind and she swore she heard a sob carry over towards them. Ryan rushed at her, splashing water everywhere and grabbing her by the shoulders. She nearly toppled over and turned around to cup water in her palm and throw it in his face.

"Oh! In the _face_!" Amy shouted from a few meters away, laughing. Ryan wiped his face off with his own wet hands and spit into the water.

"Yeah, come on over here Ames and see if you think it's so funny when you get a face full of sea water."

"It's not sea water," Cat dragged out, "stop being so dramatic."

"I will as soon as you stop causing so much drama."

Cat rolled her eyes playfully and turned back to look at the person, who she gathered was a woman, standing still in the wind. She held their hand to her face, a white tissue rippling along her nose. Ryan tried to get Cat's attention but she just shrugged him off. He scoffed and pouted, "Rude!"

"No, Ryan, shh."

"What?"

She nodded at him then pointed towards the woman. It appeared she hadn't noticed them yet for she was still gazing forward out to the water. Ryan squinted, leaning forward over Cat's shoulder.

"Who's _that_?"

"I dunno. But... I think she's crying."

"What? That's ridiculous. You don't cry at the beach. The beach makes everyone happy."

Cat elbowed him in the ribs and cast a glance at him, "Ryan, this is serious. She's wearing _black_ and she's _crying_. She probably just came back from a funeral or something."

"Should we go talk to her?"

"What do we say?"

"I don't know. Sorry for your loss. Did you bury them at sea?"

"Ryan!"

The sound of excited splashing drew their attention to Amy who was waddling towards them as fast as the water would allow. She finally reached them, panting and red-faced.

"What's going on guys?"

"That lady over there."

"Over where?" Amy whipped around to survey the beach. Cat started to point but she noticed she was gone.

"What? Oh. She's... gone?"

Amy glanced at her, "Are you sure there was a lady?"

"Yeah I'm sure. Ryan saw her too."

"Saw who?"

"The lady."

"What lady?"

"Haha very funny Ryan. You're such a comedian. Don't make me feel like I'm crazy."

"You don't need any help in that," he shrugged. Cat crossed her arms and sighed heavily.

"That's so weird, though. She was right there," she pointed towards the grassy knoll, "on that hill. She was like.. wearing a lot of black and was crying. She looked like she was from a funeral or something."

"Like the lady in Jaws?" Amy queried.

"Yeah... I guess. I mean I …" Cat pressed her lips together and glanced at the deeper water. "Well now that you've mentioned Jaws..."

"Uh, hey guys? I just … might have felt something against my leg... You … wanna get out of the water?" Ryan asked, raising his fist to his mouth.

Amy and Cat exchanged glances before both muttering, "Yes!"

Cat sat on the hotel bed cross-legged, flipping through various channels. The farther she went, the more static-laced the channels became. Finally it was nothing but white noise. She sighed and turned off the T.V. Amy came out of the bathroom, drying her hair off with a towel. Ryan was laying in the bed next to Cat's, spread out and staring at the ceiling.

"So, Cat. You never did tell us. How was your drive up here? I hear it's a pain from where you were coming from."

"Oh yeah. It was okay... I mean, I didn't get into any accidents."

"Did you see any?" Ryan asked from his bed, raising his arms up and rotating them out of boredom.

"No, I don't think so. Wait. Yeah, there was one. Like halfway here I saw a bunch of police cars with their lights on surrounding this one kind of turn off place at a field. They were surrounding some little car and they had roadblocks around the right lane so they had to slow down traffic."

"Wow. Did you see what happened? Why'd they do that?" Amy piped up.

"I dunno. I tried to see what was wrong. They had so many officers there and an ambulance. I thought it was a wreck or something, like they went off the road, but the car looked fine. The paramedics weren't in too big of a hurry either, so..."

"Jeez. That's so weird."

"I know."

"Maybe it wasn't an accident," Ryan stated aloud, still looking at the ceiling. "At least not the kind we're thinking of."

Cat and Amy looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You guys know the legend right?"

Cat gave a suspicious glance towards the blonde girl who shook her head in return.

"No... what legend?"

"The legend of the hitchhiker?"

The girls were silent and stared at the boy. He sat up quickly, suddenly charged with energy. "You guys seriously mean you _don't_ know the story of the hitchhiker?"

They both shook their heads.

"Oh man. Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man." He leaped off the bed and began pacing around the room. He had his hands to the sides of his face and he stared at the ground. "Ooooh, you guys _don't know_!" He sounded giddy.

"No, we don't," Amy replied, dropping the towel to the floor, "so tell us!"

Ryan gave a knowing laugh and stood in front of the bed. He motioned for Amy to sit and she did, wiggling around to make herself comfortable.

"Okay, so legend has it that there's this hitchhiker who is like totally crazy."

"... like every hitchhiker," Amy added slowly.

"Yeah, but no. This guy is like super crazy. He likes to carry around a pocketknife. He pretends that his car has broken down or something real sappy that a nice person will help out with. Then he hitches a ride with them and then, when they're driving in the middle of nowhere, he slashes them."

They both remained silence. Ryan stared at them wide-eyed with excitement. Finally Cat spoke up.

"That's it? He just … slashes them?"

"Yeah."

"I don't understand how that story is so important to us."

"Okay, first of all it's not a story," Ryan defended, "and second of all, he's been working around here lately."

"You mean recently?" Amy hissed, her voice thick with worry.

"Yes! There's been so many abductions and murders around here lately – in Texas and Arizona and I just … _you guys we're right in the MIDDLE of his hunting grounds_!" Both girls felt goosebumps prickle their arms and legs.

"What do you mean '_hunting grounds_'?" Cat asked warily. Ryan grinned at her, clasping his hands together .

"Okay, so you know how serial killers sometimes work in a certain area? Like around a landmark, like a river or a water tower or something? Well, this guy, since he hitches, is usually around the same area because he kills his ride before they get to where they're going. So he tends to be in the same area, until someone takes him out of state. So, with all of these mysterious car accidents, I am guessing we're right in the middle of it all."

Cat stiffened her jaw. Amy leaned back to get a pillow, sat up and threw it in Ryan's face.

"Why are you so happy about this?" Amy questioned angrily.

"Relax," Ryan huffed, hugging the pillow to his chest, "I'm sure we're all safe. I mean, none of us are dead, right? And none of us saw any hitchhikers, right? None of us _gave_ any rides to hitchhikers, so I'm sure we're all perfectly safe."

Amy and Ryan continued bickering as Cat sat in stunned silence. She felt cold all over, goosebumps all along her spine. She had seen a hitchhiker. She had given a ride to a hitchhiker. Yeah, she was still alive, but … Did she tell him where she was going? She strained to remember, but it was too far away to recall. No, no, no. She was alright. He was a nice man. He had asked for a ride because his car had broken down, _just like Ryan said he'd say_, and he had casually chatted with her until they reached the motel. He didn't pull a knife out, he didn't threaten her. He had _smiled_ at her, right? And he _laughed_. Crazed murdering psychopathic pocketknife-wielding hitchhikers didn't laugh or smile or chat around.

It wasn't him. That was it, simple and plain. It wasn't him. He wasn't the mystery killer. He wasn't a psycho. He was nice and kind and handsome.

"I can't believe you guys haven't heard of him before," she heard Ryan say, "he's been all over the news since like, forever."

"Well sorry I don't watch the news," Amy cried.

That was good. Cat watched the news sometimes. She didn't recall any specific "killer hitcher" story on the news bulletin, but she might have recalled a police sketch or photo if there'd been one. Maybe a passing glance between changing channels... His face wasn't familiar to her, though. What was it? John. Right. John didn't look like a murderer. He looked...

"Hey are you okay?"

Cat snapped out of her thoughts and turned her head up towards Ryan. He was staring intently at her, worry etched across his face. She licked her lips and nodded.

"Yeah I'm fine. Um... turn on the news, maybe they'll have something about this guy." Cat remembered that she had the remote and grabbed it off the bed, switched on the TV and surfed the channels until a crackling news report appeared on the screen. She increased the volume, the reporter's voice cut through with static.

"But more on that story at 10. Four highway murders in the last week and two abandoned cars found driven off the side of a road have police officers scrambling for answers and looking for a murderer. The Highway Hitcher has been at it again, slaughtering a family 10 miles out of a tiny town in Texas and moving on to another unsuspecting group of people. It is unknown how long the Highway Hitcher has been at work, selecting his victims and leaving their bodies in the cars they had picked him up in. There have been strings of murders from Maine to California and every state in between but still police have no idea who or where this stranger is.

"Every time police believe they are close on his trail, they discover that the I.D. the man used had been stolen from a previous victim. As of now, there is no way to know the current name of the Hitcher and audiences are cautioned to not pick up anyone, regardless of their apparent need. A composite sketch has been created. The information was given to us by a cashier at a service station between two small Texas towns. The sketch showed here is what we believe the Highway Hitcher to look like. There has been no photographic evidence or video footage of the man and the composite is from a single eyewitness account. If anyone has any information, or if you see a hitchhiker and you are unsure of their nature, please do not hesitate to call us at ….."

The voice faded out as the three stared in silence at the charcoal sketch splayed across the screen. Amy gripped her hands tightly in her lap, Ryan sighed heavily and turned his eyes away but Cat continued to stare. It … _kind of _looked _maybe_ similar to the man she had picked up. But not really. Same heavy brow and short hair. But the drawing's chin was too sharp, too pointed. His jaws were too angular. His eyes.. She shuddered. His eyes were too cold. They looked dead.

It wasn't, she decided. It wasn't him. She wouldn't let it be. _It couldn't be._

"..at?" Ryan looked at her, waving a hand in front of her eyes. She blinked a few times and looked at him.

"What?"

"Are you okay? You look super pale."

"I'm fine," she murmured.

"I don't think you are. You've been spacing out lately. Is there something wrong? Is it this whole hitchhiker thing? I didn't mean to scare you, I just thought you should know."

"You scared her, Ryan! And me too." Amy punched his arm but he took no notice.

"Cat? I'm really sorry if I scared you. But you really ought to know these things. I don't want you going around picking up strange people and giving them rides. They could be this guy, you know?"

She nodded wordlessly. Amy leaned over and pulled Cat into a tight hug, "It's okay Cat. We're all safe here. We have locks on the doors and windows and it's not like anyone's going to break into a cheap hotel anyways. Especially not out here."

Cat exhaled sharply and nodded, forcing a smile. "Thanks. I feel so silly for worrying. Honestly... who would come all the way out here to this hotel and break in? It's just ridiculous." She bit her tongue as Ryan and Amy patted her arms and head, comforting her. She decided not to tell them that she had indeed picked up a hitchhiker along the same stretch of road that several other people had been stalked and killed. There was no need to worry them, especially since she was frightened enough for all three of them.


	4. Until we Meet Again

**A/N: **Hey! I've been working on this chapter for a while. It's a long one! (3,799 words WITHOUT author notes, etc.) I really hope you like it. I'm really excited to be working on this story again. It's good to be back guys! And just so you all know, yes, we're getting really close to Cat & John meeting again! Sorry for grammar mistakes if any.

(_My stories are unbeta'd, so..._)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Hitcher or any part of the franchise. I just own my OCs and yeah, that's about it.

**Enjoy! R&R. I love reviews, they make me happy & I work harder ~~ **

**All my love**

* * *

><p>"You just <em>got here<em>," Ryan complained, grabbing Cat by the elbow and pulling her back inside the hotel room. "One day? _One day?_ You can't leave yet. We were gonna head up to the next town and get ice cream and rent a bicycle and do all sorts of weird tourist things."

"Sorry Ryan," she smiled softly, "but I need to go home."

"You traveled all the way out here to spend 16 hours in a motel room. Okay. That's cool. But not really. What's the matter? Is it something we did?"

"No, of course not. I love you guys. I'd spend the rest of vacation with you if I could, but I really just want to go home."

Ryan looked hurt. Cat pulled him into a hug and squeezed him. "It's okay, hon. It's nothing you did. I just … I'd feel better if I was heading home."

"Fine, you don't have to stay here with us. But promise me you'll do something with your vacation. Don't just stay stuck at home the entire time."

She stood back and smiled, nodding. "Yeah, of course. I have no plans of staying in my room for the next few days. I'll be running around or something."

Amy came to the door, holding a backpack. "Are you absolutely _sure_ you want to leave? It's not us, right?"

"She said no," Ryan sighed heavily. Amy glanced at him and he shrugged, "I already asked."

Cat turned and hugged Amy tightly, her face buried in her blonde hair. Amy patted Cat's back and smiled gently. "It's okay, Catherine. Call us every now and again so we can keep track of where you're at."

"I will."

She pulled back and held the brunette at arm's length. "I mean it. Call us whenever you want to. And if you feel like you need someone, or if you are scared or if you are lonely or _anything_ then you just call us and we'll head down to wherever you are. I promise. Okay?"

"She gets it, Amy," Ryan called out. "You don't need to baby her. She'll call if she needs to call."

"Oh, sure. Like you're so cool about it. You'll be crying before she pulls out of the parking lot."

Cat laughed, forcing away oncoming tears. She wasn't crying because she was leaving her two good friends after spending so many hours on the road. She wasn't crying because she was ditching her vacation spot for home. She was crying because that night she had a nightmare. It was horrible. She'd been dreaming of swimming in the ocean, waves pushing against her. The dark water met with the gray sky and she couldn't see land. Suddenly she felt something tug on her ankle. She tried desperately to stay above water but the force was too strong. She was scared of drowning, but she was pulled under anyways. However she wasn't pulled into the deep watery depths she had imagined. Instead she was in the driver's seat of her Volvo. It was dark, there was rain and spotlights on the road. She looked around but saw no one, nothing. Finally she looked down at her lap. Something glinted in the light and she raised it up. It was a knife, covered in red and black. She raised it higher so her hands were in the light and she saw that everything about her was covered in red. Blood. She was covered in blood. She peeled the black off of the knife and saw it was hair, stringy and sticky. Suddenly there was the sound of something hitting the roof of the car. She tried to scream but nothing came out. Only blood. She'd lost her tongue. More banging, more rain, more blood. The passenger door was ripped open and there was a screaming wind to accompany the harsh rain. A huge, hooded figure loomed in the door and stooped to climb inside. She tried to force open her own door, shoving her shoulder against it and pulling at the door handle until her hands were sore. Nothing worked. The car rocked as the figure sat down in the seat next to her and the door slammed shut. She sat in frightened silence, staring out the windshield at the rain and lights. She thought she was crying but she couldn't tell.

_It's him_, she heard from somewhere. It sounded like it was echoing from far away. She couldn't tell if it was in her head or not. _It's him_, the voice repeated. The figure didn't move. She slowly turned to look at it. It was hunched over, dark and brooding. Finally it turned its head slowly. Its face was shrouded with darkness. She hesitantly reached out and grabbed the corner of the hood. _Him, him, him. It's him. _She pulled the hood back and then shrunk back against her door. The police sketch of the Highway Hitcher was in place of a real face, but before long it began to morph and change, melting away into the skin of the real person. Before long, with ink and paper dripping away, she was staring at the face of her long ago passenger, Mr. John Ryder. He smirked at her.

_Hey Cat_, he said, his voice loud and sharp. She scrambled for the knife only to find it missing. _Looking for this?_ She looked up to see John was holding the knife, twirling it so it caught the light and shined crimson. He grinned at her. _It's been a while._ He lunged forward with the knife raised and plunged it into her chest. But instead of feeling overwhelming pain and spitting out blood, the knife, and his hand, disappeared. She stared in horror as he shrugged and smiled. _I guess it's not your time. See you when it is._ He started to pull back but ended up stretching and dissipating like smoke. After that, she woke up, huddled into her blankets. She was too in shock to cry so she just laid in bed all night waiting for the morning to come. Now that the morning was here, she was up and ready to go. And she was going to _go_. She parted from the hotel, packing her bags into the back of her Volvo, waving a goodbye and pulling out of the parking lot.

Really, she should have stayed with the two friends who stood in the doorway waving at her until she disappeared around the road, but she felt that she'd be safer at home. She didn't take into consideration all of the open road she'd have to cross over before she even got close to home. She also didn't take into consideration that anywhere between Point A and Point B, there might be a handsome hitchhiker named John Ryder that was looking for a ride.

* * *

><p>"Need a ride?"<p>

John glanced up from the magazine he'd been scanning through to see a woman smile at him. She had blonde beach waves, blood red lips and was wearing a black pencil skirt with a white blouse. She folded her arms across her chest and smirked. He just stared at her and closed the magazine.

"What makes you think I need a ride?"

"Well you're scanning through a _VogueKnitting_ magazine at a gas station and since I'm the only car here..." she shrugged, "It just seemed like the most logical thing."

"Hmm." He looked her up and down. There were definitely two good things he could get out of this one. One was a little bit messier than the other. He put the magazine back in the wire rack and shrugged, smiling at her. "Yeah, actually. I do need a ride."

She giggled and bit her lip. "Alright. Are you all set or do you need to buy something?"

He looked around the convenience store and shook his head. "No, I think I'm all set. What about you?"

She tightened her grip on her purse, "I just need to pay for the gas." It was her turn to look him up and down. "You can head out to the car."

He gave a fake smile, "Thanks." He walked past her and out the doors, the bells jingling after him. She watched after him and hummed to herself. He was way too attractive. And judging from the way he was eyeballing her, a car ride wasn't the only thing he'd be getting from her. She quickly paid for the gas with cash and headed outside.

John waited beside the car, glancing around the service area. Blondie was right, she was the only car. The sound of bells and heels clicking on asphalt brought his attention to the woman who was swaying her way towards him. She smiled brightly and raised her keys, pushing a button and unlocking the doors with a resonate chirp from the car.

"Go ahead and get in," she sang. John pulled open the passenger door and slid into the low, red car. The woman approached the driver's side, opened the door and threw her purse in before climbing in. She closed the door and sighed happily. She turned to look at him, "So where you headed to stranger?"

"Just north."

"North? That's it?" she laughed, "You sure are an easy ride." She started the car and let it idle for a few seconds before pulling around the gas pumps and heading out onto the road. The woman bobbed her head to music that only she heard as she rolled down her window and let the wind blow her hair around. She sighed, brushing a blonde strand off of her lips. "We never did give any formal introductions." She gave a sidelong glance towards her passenger. "I'm Judy." She extended her left arm sideways to give a handshake but John didn't take it. She balled her hand into a fist and awkwardly took it back.

"I'm John."

She laughed. "John? Really?" She glanced at him again and he stared at her seriously. "I mean.. that's such a common name. I … it's just so funny.. to me." Judy swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel. "So, John... where are you from?

"All over," he stated monotonously. Judy was really starting to doubt picking up this man.

"I'm from Michigan, originally but I moved to Virginia and now I'm here, in New Mexico because of a friend of a friend... Traveling for work. Or, actually, there's supposed to be a job down here that's better than any job I could get in Virginia. I'm trusting this 'friend' actually has something to show me. I've already looked around for some houses down here. A lot cheaper than back home."

"Hmm." John didn't sound too interested in this woman's life story. It'd only been 15 minutes and the woman was regretting picking him up. She thought he'd be an interesting, talkative guy. But instead he was quiet and a little rude. He was beginning to scare her with his short, abrasive answers. Was it too late to drop him off somewhere? When was the next town?

She glanced over when he settled into his seat, his hands in his lap. What was that? Was that a … a wedding ring? Now she felt somewhat ridiculous. A man who was married couldn't be all that bad. But then again, a married man shouldn't really have given her the looks he'd given her. Maybe he was separated? Divorced but couldn't cope? Widowed? A lonely heart?

"What do you do for a living?" he asked suddenly and Judy nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Me? I, uh, I-I sell real estate."

"Huh. Like houses?"

"Usually for big buildings, restaurants, store, stuff like that. I've been asked about houses but my forte is businesses."

John nodded but said nothing more. Judy wanted the conversation to continue. "What about you? What do you do?"

"A little bit of everything."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing now?"

"I'm in-between jobs."

"What was your job before?"

"Mechanic."

"Oh. So you're good with your hands?"

Out of the corner of her eye she saw John smirk a little bit she felt her face turn a shade pinker.

"I didn't mean -"

"I guess you could say I am," he interrupted, his voice thick with amusement.

Judy wondered if she could pursue this. "What kind of work do you do as a mechanic?"

"Body work," he shot back quickly.

"Oh really? My car's been acting a little funny lately. Do you think you could work on _its _body?"

"I can work on any body you need me to."

Judy bit her bottom lip and looked out her window, a smile threatening to show. She tried to think of some innuendo-laced statement when John cut through her thoughts.

"Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull the car over."

"Why?"

"You said that your body needed some tuning. Pull over and I can fix it for you."

She looked over at him and he gave a knowing smile and she felt blush creep over her face. She smiled back and blinkered over into the gravel shoulder. She glanced around to make sure there were no cars and noted that they were just at the circle of a curve in the road, so they were blocked from immediate on-coming traffic until they passed right by them. The car idled for a while until Judy turned off the engine and shifted in her seat to look at John. He reached over and brushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She folded and unfolded her hands in her lap and hesitantly reached out to touch his knee. He cupped her face and leaned in to kiss her. His kiss was soft at first but then quickly became hard and forceful. He pushed himself against her and she backed up until her head hit the window. She had nowhere to go and he was still pressing against her.

He grabbed at her shirt and tugged on it until she got the hint and unbuttoned half of it. He pushed her hand out of the way and groped her chest, trailing his fingers up her neck and pressing his hand against her throat. She tried to let out some sort of moan but her voice was caught in her throat. She couldn't talk – she could barely breathe. She firmly placed her hands on his shoulders and tried to push him away but he stayed put. She could feel her oxygen dwindle the longer he held his mouth over hers and it was starting to alarm her.

Judy started tapping him on the shoulders with her palms to gain his attention but he ignored her. He loomed over her, digging his fingers into her skin. She squealed in her throat and tried to turn away. Finally their lip-lock was broken and she gasped for breath.

"That's a little too rough for me, John," she panted, swallowing hard and casting her gaze away from him. "Maybe we could take it a little slower?"

"No."

Goosebumps ran up her arms and she hesitantly glanced at him. "W-What?"

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"You seemed pretty eager to start this thing, at least that's what I got out of it. Why do you want to slow down? Are you having second thoughts?" He didn't sound too concerned about the thought of her changing his mind. In fact, he sounded as if he didn't care.

"No, I just … I'm not used to it being this rough, at least not at first. I thought we could slow down a little since we _are_ in a car..." She paused to give a laugh, hoping he'd laugh too but he didn't. She felt her lips tremble. "Not much room here."

He said nothing so she assumed he was thinking it over, or was waiting for her to make a move.

"So … are we okay then?"

"I'm not going to go slow with you," he stated sharply. She felt so cold now, the back of her head pressed against the window and him on top of her. She tried to wiggle a little to get more comfortable but he had her pinned to the seat. "My way or the highway," he said simply after that. She blinked rapidly.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he commanded. She flinched and slowly turned to look at him. "Now that wasn't too hard was it?"

She was suddenly frightened. "M-Maybe we should … get back to the road," she said meekly.

"Why? What's so important about where you're going?"

"I-I … I'm supposed to call my friend once I get into town and he's expecting me soon..."

"He'll just have to wait."

"Uhm, actually I think we should hurry because -"

John reached into his pocket and flipped out a large, silver blade that glinted red in spots and had a patch of what appeared to be hair sticking to where the hilt and blade met. He brought the knife up to Judy's throat, pressing the tip under her jaw.

"We _should _hurry," he said softly, "because I'm ready. Are you?"

Tears bubbled up at the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

He turned the blade slightly and the edge dug into her skin. She let out a gasp and closed her eyes tightly, the hot tears running down her ruddy cheeks. He dragged the blade slowly up along her jaw line, a trail of blood trickling down her throat. She whimpered in pain and more tears came pouring out.

He leaned in close to her ear, breathing hot air on her face, "I need you to say something for me." She pulled her shoulders in and let the blood pool at her collarbone.

"W-What?" she murmured with a shaky voice.

"I need you to say … 'I want to die'."

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt cold all over. What kind of psycho had she picked up? John waited a few minutes for Judy to respond and when she didn't he pressed the blade deeper into her throat. She let out a strangled cry and turned her head, hair sticking in blood and tears.

"Say it."

"Please … l-let me go... I … I won't tell anyone. Just let me go, please..."

"That's not what I asked for."

"Please," she begged again, "just go..."

He moved the blade quickly to her eye, pointing the tip against her bottom eyelid and gripping the hilt tightly. "I'll dig your eyeball out right now if you don't say it."

Judy kept her eyes open and stared in horror at the man above her. "I …" she began to hyperventilate and had to stop to catch her breath. "I … want … t-to …"

John waited patiently for the last word, watching the woman under him as she fell apart in fear.

"W-Why are you doing th-this?" she blubbered, "You don't n-need to do this …"

"Yes I do."

"N-No you don't... I-If you let me go... I can .. we can get you help... I … I know people... they can help."

"I don't want help."

"B-But you need it."

"The only thing I _need_ is for you to say 'I want to die' and the longer you hold out on it, the more I'm tempted to start cutting off parts until you do say it."

Judy let out a sob and gasped sharply when he started to press the blade into her cheekbone.

"Say it," he demanded, "or I'll cut out your eye."

"I … I want …" she was trembling and sobbing between words, "I want … to … d-die ..."

He pressed his lips against hers and pulled back, "Thank you."

Judy had no time to scream and he pulled the blade down across her throat and fell back in his seat as she grabbed at her neck. Her shirt front was covered in blood as she pounded at the steering wheel, gasping for air and squirting blood across the windshield. She gurgled for a bit then slumped back against her own seat, her head falling to the side and spitting out blood which dribbled down her chin.

John looked at his blade and lifted it, turning it so he could see all angles of it covered in blood. He wiped it off on his pant leg and closed it, stuffing it in his pocket and pushing open his door. He slammed the door shut and began the long trek down the hot and winding road, the sun beating down on his back. He didn't know when he'd see another car, and he pondered which way they'd be coming from – if they came from behind him, they'd have to pass Judy rotting in her little car, and if they came from ahead, they'd end up going back and pass it. Maybe he'd just wait a bit until he could find a ride that wouldn't question his bloodied pant leg and connect it to the slaughtered corpse in the red car.

As he walked along the road, his shoes hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm, he looked up towards the sky and narrowed his eyes. It was a nice, clear day and very, very warm. It didn't bother him as much as it should have – the heat, the lack of shadowy places to hide under, the warmth radiating off of the asphalt. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. It was kind of nice, walking alone. In the silence he could think. But he didn't like that. He didn't like having time to think because whenever he thought, he thought of _her_. He didn't want to spend all of his free time thinking of her. She was becoming a bit of a problem, in every sense of the word. The more he thought of her, the more he wished he'd come upon her again, the more he wished he'd done _something _– stayed with her, followed her, kidnapped her even just to keep her around.

But he couldn't. If they weren't dead, they were trouble. And she would most definitely cause him trouble; he could feel it in his bones. However, it was kind of exciting. To have someone out there to go to, to be friendly with. Maybe all he needed in his life right now was a little bit of trouble – a different kind than himself. He just wished he knew where to find her.

Hell, maybe he didn't even need to try to find her. Maybe she'd spot him walking down the road and pick him up again. After all, you did meet the most unexpected people when hitchhiking.


	5. That's not the Way home

**A/N: **Sorry for such a long wait for this next chapter. I had this written a while ago but I just got around to editing it. I've been working on some other stories, but I always come back to this one. So we're kind of getting somewhere now. Woo hoo. That's always fun. I wonder what'll happen next? I guess we'll find out when we get there. I think this is my only story from 2011 on FFN that isn't on hiatus. Yeah!

As always, unbeta'd. So all spelling and grammar mistakes are mine. Sorry!

**Disclaimer: **The Hitcher, its characters, plot and canon dialogue do not belong to me. I own all my OCs and original dialogue. Everyone and everything goes to their rightful owners, yes yes yes.

* * *

><p>Cat had forgotten just how much she really disliked driving in the dark. She had been in such a hurry to get out of the hotel and back home that she didn't consider the long drive alone. It wasn't that she didn't trust herself driving in the dark – it was that she didn't trust the other drivers, especially not on the long twisting roads. Her car was small and black and the headlights were a dim yellow, nearly dead. She should've changed them before she left on her trip, but she hadn't thought about it. Does anyone think about things like that? She had checked the oil and the tires, but who bothers to see if their headlights are dying? That made her nervous that her taillights were going out, too.<p>

The road was barely lit up before her, the moon and stars hidden behind dark clouds. She shifted in her seat and clutched at her steering wheel. She thought about what would happen if some animal decided to dart out into the road. What would she do? Swerve to avoid it and go off-road? Run it over? Slam on her brakes? She hoped that the animal would evolve the brain of some higher species and think, _Hmm maybe sitting out in the middle of the road isn't too smart or productive to my health_ and move along out of the way. But there was no chance of the lower lifeforms developing superior knowledge in the few brief seconds before her car bumper hit them, so she pushed the ridiculous thought away and concentrated on the road in front of her.

The long yellow lines of the median flashed quickly beside her and started to blur together, her eyes going in and out of focus. She blinked rapidly and pushed her knuckle against her closed eyelid, rubbing her eyes. She wondered what Ryan and Amy were doing. They were still back in their hotel, enjoying their vacation, probably watching one of three channels that the hotel TV got and arguing over the last can of root beer.

She smiled a bit at the thought, remembering how they used to spend Friday and Saturday nights at each other's houses, watching cheesy B-horror movies and eating Chex mix and crying over how stupid school was. She relaxed into her seat and let her hands release from their death grip on the steering wheel. They'd get to do that again soon. After school started up again, they'd all take the weekends off and just hang out. Hopefully there wouldn't be any more extended cross-country roadtrips like this one.

The clouds started to dissipate from in front of the moon and silver light illuminated the long stretch of black asphalt before her. She leaned forward and glanced up through the windshield to see a few small stars against the sky. She glanced at the road before quickly muttering the nighttime rhyme she had always repeated since she'd been a toddler.

_"Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight … I wish I may, I wish I might have this wish I wish tonight..._" She paused to think about what she wanted to wish for. She had always wished for things like a lot of money, or for certain boys to like her, or to become a queen and inherit the land of Genovia from The Princess Diaries. But here, alone, driving the desolate road back to home she realized that she didn't really want or need any of those things. In a few days when she bothered to look up at the night sky again, she would resume wishing for cute clothes and to marry rich, but for right now she needed something real. Something tangible. Something comforting.

Cat cast another glance up towards the sky, seeing the star she had begun, but neglected to finish, her wish on. She inhaled deeply and breathed out the last bit of her wish. "I wish … to have a safe drive home."

Fifteen minutes later she was leaning against the wheel, rubbing her eyes and straining to see the dark road in front of her. It was getting later and later and she was getting tired. She needed to find a place to stop and sleep. She blinked rapidly to keep her eyes confused and turned her attention to the green metal sign that caught her headlights and reflected back yellow light.

_Motel – 5 miles. Restaurant – 5 miles. Gas station – 7 miles. _

She mentally thanked God for this and relaxed back into her seat, knowing she would be able to make it at least a few more minutes to the motel. She just really hoped they had vacancy. It was pretty late and as far as she knew, it was the only motel for miles. Hopefully there were a ton of other travelers who were smarter than her and had planned ahead and didn't need to make an emergency stop at the motel.

It was only a few minutes later when the glowing lights inside the lobby came into view along the long road and she sighed heavily, smiling. Finally, a safe place. She pressed on the gas to speed up to the motel then eased on the brake and blinkered over to the driveway. She pulled under the portico and rummaged around for her wallet in the dark.

Finding it, she turned off the car and hopped out, heading inside the double glass doors to the low Formica counter.

"Hi," said the cheery, heavyset man from behind the desk. He squinted from behind round glasses that reflected the orange light above him.

"Hi," Cat replied, smiling. "Do you have any rooms?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure..." He turned to a thick binder filled with papers. "Let me check..." He glanced up at her. "We haven't switched over to computers yet. If anything happens to them, we're hours away from any repair guy coming out here to fix 'em. Better safe than sorry, I always say."

"Yeah, definitely."

He nodded and turned back to the papers, flipping through them and scanning for any empty rooms. "We've gotten a lot of people tonight," he muttered to her, running a wide index finger down the pages. "Mostly because it looks like it's gonna storm."

Cat glanced over her shoulder but could hardly see anything outside. "It looked like it was clearing up when I was driving."

"It's on the radio," he commented, pointing towards an old wooden radio on the shelf behind him. "Says it's gonna be a big one. We get all sorts of storms out here in the desert though."

"Mhm," Cat murmured, worried that she'd have to drive in the storm. It was taking a long time for the man to find an open room and it was beginning to look like she'd have to find somewhere else to stay. She bounced on her toes and looked around the dimly lit room. It smelled like cigarettes and burned coffee. That seemed to be a running theme as far as motel lobbies went. The man coughed and turned another page. She was getting anxious.

Just as she was about to give up on the man, he jabbed a finger at the page and pointed his other hand in the air, exclaiming a happy, "Aha!" He pointed at the blank slot on the page and hefted the book around in front of her so she could see. "One room left! Boy are you a lucky girl."

Cat sighed in relief and let out a soft laugh. "I was beginning to worry."

"Yeah, I saw your face. Ha! But looks like fate's on your side today, missy. Let me just get you a key..." The man disappeared into a small back room while Cat filled out her name on the paper and method of payment, laying out a few bills on the counter. The man returned and handed her a small metal key attached to a plastic oval with the room number painted in white.

"Thanks," she smiled, taking it from him.

"No problem," he paused and glanced at the book, "Catherine."

"It's actually Cat."

"Oh! My apologizes. I'm Bill."

"Nice to meet you Bill."

He beamed from behind his too-large glasses and puffed up his chest. "If there's anything I can get you while you're here, just let me know! You can come in or phone the front desk – just hit 0! I'm the only one who works, except for Tommy, but he's out right now. I'll do to the best of my abilities to cater to your needs."

The girl grinned back at him. "Thank you! But I think I'll have everything I need."

"Great! Oh, and your room is on the other side of the motel – at the back. You'll have to pull your car around."

She looked at the number on the key card and nodded. "Right, I'll do that. Thanks again."

"No problem. And don't forget to phone if you need anything!"

"Yeah, I'll remember!" She headed out into the night, feeling cold as a wind picked up. She shuddered against herself and slid into her car, turning it on and putting the heater on full blast. It wouldn't do much since she'd just be heading around to the back, but it'd be nice for a few moments.

The car puttered out from under the wooden portico and she steered it through the parking lot which was small, but full of cars, and around to the back which was nearly deserted. There was a large semi-truck parked horizontal against the curb that met the sloping hill to the right and a few cars parked neatly on the left. She pulled in right in front of her door and turned off the car. The engine rattled and exhaled loudly as it settled down for the night.

Cat clambered out of the car and pulled out her overnight bag from the backseat then hopped up to the sidewalk. She fumbled around with the key before getting it to slide into the lock and used her shoulder to push open the door. A few pieces of paint chipped off from the doorjamb onto her shoulder but she brushed them off with the side of her hand and they fell to the ground. She stepped inside, flipping on the overhead light.

The light barely reached the far corners of the room causing her to strain her eyes to try to see, but it would work for the night. It wasn't like she was going to use the lights a lot. She stepped inside and closed the door, instinctively locking it behind her. She tossed the bag on the bed and slipped off her shoes. She took in her surroundings and noted that it was like every other motel room. To the left was a little alcove with a sink and a door to the bathroom, as well as a dresser shoved against the wall topped with a TV and lamp. To the right was the bed, a small wooden beside table with a cream-colored phone as well as a digital clock and across the room was an open closet. But beside the bed was another door. She had no idea what it could lead to; she'd already located the bathroom and closet, so there was nothing else that it could logically be.

Cat hesitantly approached the door and placed her fingers on the handle. It was cold under her skin but she squeezed it and pulled it open slowly. She glanced inside, getting a strong smell of sawdust and smoke. She pulled the door open completely and stared dumbfounded at the second door on the other side. It must lead into the other room. She placed a hand on it and considered knocking but a quick glance at the clock showed how late it really was. It could be inconsiderate (and a bit creepy) if she knocked on the door. Besides, someone was undoubtedly sleeping on the other side and she had no idea what type of person it was.

But there was the possibility that there was no one. She hadn't seen any car in front of the room next to hers. It was _possible_ that they parked somewhere else, but why would they want to if they could park right _in front_ of their room? She paused a moment. Maybe it was the trucker. If it was, he wouldn't be able to park right there in front of his room and instead would have to opt for parking against the curb with his large semi-trailer. Yeah, that was it. It made the most sense. And if it _was_ the trucker, then she definitely didn't want to wake him up. She had an uncle who drove trucks for a living and she knew that they needed all the sleep they could get – considering they had 14 hour days and slept in the back of their cabin.

Besides, trucker or not, everyone hating noisy neighbors in motels. She closed the door and locked it, just in case, and changed into her pajamas. She turned off the lights and crawled into the bed, pulling the blankets up to her face. She hoped it would be a quick night and she prayed that there would be no storm. It wasn't long before she was asleep, but at the back of her mind she was suspicious about the extra door and wondered if that flimsy lock would be enough to keep out nosy neighbors. She could only hope it was as she drifted into a deep sleep and shut out the rest of the world.

* * *

><p><em>Hey<em>.

The voice sounded close but also very far away, like she was underwater and hearing someone on the distant shore. Cat shifted under her blankets and let out some sort of mumbled reply.

_Hey. Wake up._

Was this the alarm? Had she set the alarm? Must be a dream.

_Cat_.

Yeah, a dream. Who on earth would be in her room? Or maybe she had made it home last night and the whole motel thing was a dream and her mom was trying to wake her up. Maybe the whole trip was a dream and she'd never left home in the first place.

_Wake up, Catherine._

Goosebumps coated the girl's arms and she couldn't tell if it was because someone had thrown open a window or if she was beginning to doubt the nature of the voice calling to her. Her mom never called her Catherine, not even when she was mad at her. It was someone else... She strained through her sleep to identify the voice. It sounded deeper than anyone she knew. A man … A man? What was a man doing in her room? Ryan? Maybe she actually was back with them after all. That'd be crazy.

Cat shuddered violently as the blankets surrounding her moved and began to slip off her body. She pulled her knees up to her chest and stuck her hands under her pillows. More goosebumps appeared on her legs and up her thighs. She let out a soft sigh and tried pulling the blankets up with her toes, but they were ripped from her and she froze. Okay. This _had_ to be a dream. A nightmare, maybe. But even so, she was too frightened to open her eyes. What if it wasn't a dream? What if it was sleep paralysis? What if she opened her eyes and saw some sort of multi-eyeballed hobgoblin sitting on the end of her bed brandishing a battle axe?

_Are you going to wake up or not_?

The voice was clearer, closer, less watery and distant. Definitely a man. Cat swallowed hard and opened one eye. She glanced around the room from where she lay before catching sight of a tall, broad shouldered body standing at the end of her bed. She jolted upwards in fear, pulling her legs close to herself and feeling her heart nearly burst. The man just stared at her for a while, eyes searching her face for something. Okay, so he wasn't some boggart with a medieval weapon, readying to strike her down in her sleep. He was a real, living, breathing human being. She wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

He exhaled deeply through his nose and pushed his hands into his jacket pocket. "Nice to see you up."

The girl felt like crying but thought that maybe that's what the man wanted. Isn't that what all murderers and burglars and creeps wanted? To see their victims cry? No, she wouldn't do it. She couldn't show fear. She couldn't show weakness. So she just stared in horror at the man as he raised one hand up and ran it through his closely cropped hair. He cocked an eyebrow at her as if waiting for some sort of reply.

"How … did you get … i-in here?" she squeaked out, surprise that she could talk at all. She wasn't quite sure if it was a great idea to ask, but she couldn't very well take it back now.

He nodded behind her and she looked over to see the door leading into the other room wide open.

"Adjoining rooms," he stated coolly.

She turned back to him, "But I … locked it..."

"Yeah, that's the thing about these old motels. The locks never quite work."

Cat stared at him, still completely terrified. Before she could think it through even a small bit, she was asking him the one thing you _never_ ask someone who's just broken into your room: "What do you want?"

The man gave her a bit of quizzical look and Cat thought for a moment that maybe she wasn't speaking English. That maybe in her dazed state she was rambling in some sort of foreign language, but the look on his face wasn't that of someone trying to decipher another language; it was look of someone a bit taken aback at the question, maybe even a bit offended, but the look passed by quickly and he returned to the cool, neutral demeanor.

"Do you not remember me?"

The girl swallowed hard and squinted a bit, trying to recognize the strong jaw and heavy brow, but nothing was coming to mind. His deep blue eyes held some sort of familiarity about them, but it wasn't clear as to where she'd seen them. She was too startled to think clearly, anyways. The man gave her a few more minutes to think before extracting his hands from his pockets and staring deeply into her eyes.

"John. John Ryder."

John Ryder? Why did that name seem so familiar to her? It was like from a distant memory, but obviously someone recent since she only knew people from the high school and college – and he definitely wasn't from either. He glanced away with a frustrated sigh and suddenly it hit her – the way the light from outside highlighted his features, the way his eyes traveled along the room and back to her face as if trying to find something hidden away. She remembered. The hitchhiker she had picked up days before. John Ryder.

How on earth did he find her? And why was he in her motel room in the middle of the desert while she was asleep? Had he been in the other room all night? What about the trucker? Was _he_ the trucker?

"H-How did you … know I was … here?"

"I thought I recognized your car."

"You … followed my car?"

"No, I was traveling with a truck driver," he shrugged loosely, glancing at the doors connecting their rooms. "We stopped here for the night. I saw your car outside, thought it was you. Came over to say hi."

"...but you were here before me..."

"I went out to get something to drink, came back, saw your car."

"And you just … decided to come into my room?" It was beginning to sound like he was just coming up with a bunch of lame excuses and Cat was beginning to wonder his true intentions.

"I thought you might be up. It _is_ 10 o'clock."

Cat's head snapped to the clock beside her bed and she stared at the glowing green numbers. 10:15am. Had she really slept that long? It didn't seem like it – she was still kinda tired.

"I did knock."

"What?" she asked a bit dazed, turning back to him.

"I did knock. Three times. You didn't answer."

"So you just came in, though?"

He took a step towards the side of the bed and Cat shrunk back against the headboard, feeling exposed and uncomfortable under his stare. He stopped and eyed her.

"It was unlocked."

"No it wasn't."

"It was when I came through."

_Great, so how many other people came through here last night when I was sleeping? Great security._

Cat rubbed her eyes, hoping that this was some sort of strange dream and she'd wake up and see that she was still alone in her room and it was only like 7 in the morning, but when she moved her hands from her eyes and blinked to steady her vision she saw the man was still standing close to her. She suddenly felt unsafe in the small room next to the burly man. She thought to cover herself with the blanket but it was too far away at the end of the bed and she didn't quite feel like reaching across to grab it. It'd make her more vulnerable.

"You've got a long day ahead of you, don't you?" he asked, bringing her attention back to him.

"Uh... I guess. Why?"

"Heading out to meet your friends, right?"

She started to say that she was actually heading home but stopped herself, realizing that she didn't want John to know where she was headed. She just made a vague gesture and muttered something that sounded like an agreement.

"They're worried."

Her eyes widened a bit and she shifted on the bed. "How do you know?"

He nodded towards the beside table on the other side and Cat glanced over at it.

"They've left a lot of messages."

Cat scrambled to grab the phone and saw the glowing words on the screen. _5 missed calls, 3 new messages, 3 new texts. _She looked over at John after she pressed a button that revealed all the calls and messages had been placed between 7am and 9am. She clutched at the phone tightly in her hands and swallowed hard, slowly looking over at the man.

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough."

_I'd say_. "Um... I'm sorry, but could you … would you … I just really need you to leave." It came out before she could think it through and she wasn't sure if she was proud of herself and should be kicking herself, but the man just nodded and shrugged his large shoulders.

"Okay."

"Okay..." She watched him but he didn't budge. She wondered if he got the hint but he didn't seem to and continued to stare at her. Great, now what? Tell him to leave again? She eyed his hands shoved into his pockets and wondered if he was holding onto something. His wallet? A lucky rabbit's foot? Cell phone? Handgun?

She was seriously begin to wonder if he had some sort of connection to the creepy murderous hitchhiker that everyone on the news was talking about. What did they call him? The Highway Hitcher. Ryan had warned her about him the day before she left. He pretended his car was broken down, lured innocent and caring people out to help them and then – what did Ryan say? Slashed them. Slash. That implied a knife of some sort, not a gun. Okay so maybe John wasn't hiding a pistol in his jacket. Maybe it was something else. A pocketknife? A dagger? She could fight off someone with one of those right? Guns were more dangerous, right? That is if John _was_ the Highway Hitcher. But if he was, wouldn't he have killed her already? She'd already given him a ride, and he had managed to get into her motel room while she was asleep and he did nothing. That proved that it wasn't him, _right_?

Cat nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of someone knocking on the door and turned to see a surly man with a trucker hat on pop his head into the room, rapping his knuckles on the open door.

"Hey, you ready to go?"

John turned to him and nodded, "Yeah." He pulled his hands from his pockets and wiped his palms on his jeans. He held nothing. He glanced over at Cat who clutched her phone to her chest. The trucker looked over and straightened up immediately, wiping his own hands on his flannel shirt and pulling up his bleached jeans by the belt loops.

"Hi," he said, nodding at her. He looked over at John. "This, uh, someone you know?"

"Yeah," he said calmly.

"Oh, what's her name?"

"Cat."

"Nice to meet you Cat," the man said, removing his hat and wiping his hairline with the back of his wrist, stepping closer to the bed and into the room. "I'm Marty." Cat stared in mortification at the two, crossing her arms over her chest and pulling her feet under her. He looked over at John. "She some sorta mute?"

"No."

"...okay... She some sorta friend of yours then?"

"You could say that." John turned to look at Cat one last time before rummaging through his pockets and pulling out a folded index card. He tossed it onto the bed at her feet and turned to the trucker who was staring at Cat. "Ready, let's go."

"Uh, yeah, right." Marty nodded and pulled his hat back on his head, nodded at the girl then disappeared into his room with John right behind him. The taller man pulled the door shut behind him and Cat heard the other one close and lock. She continued to stare a the spot where they had just been standing before flinging herself off the bed to the floor and against the door, locking it form her side and pressing herself against it. She bit her tongue to keep from crying and turned to look at the card on the bed. It was folded neatly in half and was smoothed down except for one corner that was bent up. She was afraid to touch it but was genuinely curious as to what could be written on it.

The girl hesitantly stepped to the bed and picked up the paper, unfolding it and scanning over the hastily written note. It appeared to be an address, but it wasn't familiar to her. She noticed writing on one half of the back and turned it over. Scrawled across the unlined back was, _This is where I'm heading_.

That was it. No explanation (not that she was sure she wanted one), nothing. Just an address and a note. She wondered if she was supposed to go there. Was she supposed to follow him? Was she supposed to find him? Was he leading her somewhere for some reason? Was this where _he_ was going, or was this where the _trucker_ was going and he was just along for the ride? She felt deeply like she needed to pack up and head home as soon as possible, but even deeper than that she felt like she needed to follow this through and find out exactly who John Ryder was and what he wanted.

The rumbling of an engine outside caught her attention and she pushed her way to the window and peered out around the heavy curtains. Black smoke billowed out of the metal pipe atop the cabin of the semi and she saw two figures inside. The wheels slowly turned and the rig shifted as Marty (she assumed the silhouette behind the grimy window was the trucker) pressed on the gas and maneuvered the truck out of the parking lot and out to the front towards the road.

Cat turned back and hurriedly packed up her items and changed into her day clothes. She wasn't sure exactly _why_ she was doing it, but she was going to follow the note to whatever address was scribbled on it. She had no idea what she was going to find there, or who she'd run into but there was a deep burning need to find out who this guy was. It probably wasn't her greatest idea and she certainly hoped that it wouldn't be her _last_ idea, but there wasn't anything in the world that could stop her now.

Not the thought of going home, not the thought of family, not the thought of school or graduating or Ryan and Amy. There was something strange and mysterious about John Ryder and she was going to figure out what it was, even if it killed her.


	6. What an unpleasant Surprise

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait! I hope this chapter makes up for it. It was 21 pages on my OpenOffice document.

I hope everything makes sense. I'm going to have a heckuva time getting it all straight in the next chapter, but I'll do you guys justice. Don't worry. And please remember it takes time to explain everything and for the pieces to fall together, so just because it might not make sense now doesn't mean it will always be that way. It may be in the next chapter where you find out! (or maybe not if I'm just that bad of an author.)

As always, unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Hopefully there aren't too many since I'm an English major, haha. Also, I'm finally in college so it may be a while until I can update again, but probably not too long. I'm already working on the next chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters or dialogue from the original or remake of The Hitcher. I own my OCs, original dialogue and everything else. Also, quoting the kind guest who left a review on the last chapter, "Sean Bean is hella hot."

* * *

><p>It couldn't be said that Cat was stupid. She was at the top of her class, would be graduating with honors, had taken two math and an extra science course senior year and had been accepted into four very good universities around the U.S. She was going to do something, be someone, make a difference. She was the brightest out of her family and brought a lot of pride to their brood. A poster child for the school, I suppose you could call her. A lot of people looked up to her, a lot of people respected her – teachers, students, she'd even met the mayor along with ten other kids across the state who showed "promise" (something that couldn't be described, only seen through academic work and social skills).<p>

But it was easy to say that following a strange man, whom she'd met once at a gas station and then again when she'd woken up to find him in her motel room, wasn't her best idea. That didn't diminish her I.Q. any, but it certainly put her lower on the list of people who made good decisions and higher on the list of people who made bad decisions.

You couldn't ask her why she did it, either, since she didn't know. She just knew that she'd been left an address with vague instructions (i.e. a statement saying that this was where he was going to be) and knew she had to check into it. She didn't have a second thought as she packed up her things, got into her car and sped off in the direction the semi had gone after consulting with Bill behind the counter over a map. The only thing she had to say as she took a sharp left corner down a nearly invisible road was, "You're not Nancy Drew."

She was probably trying to convince herself to turn back. Surely somewhere deep down in the recess of her mind where logic and common sense resided, there was a little bit of herself screaming, "Turn back now! Go home! Don't follow this man you've just met!" But it was hidden far away and there was an even louder voice made up of intrigue, curiosity and fascination that kept muttering, "What's the harm? He hasn't hurt you so far. Besides, he _wants_ you to follow him."

That might've been a red flag right then. When an older man you've just met _wants_ you to follow him down a back road to an undisclosed area alone, then it's probably not going to go well. Soon both voices were picking at Cat's nerves and she needed to shut them out. She turned on the radio but the antenna only picked up static which startled her. She smashed her fingers against the radio buttons until the radio was off and it was asking for a CD. She rummaged around with one hand and a quick glance to find a mix CD she'd made before her trip and popped it in. "Highway to Hell" began blasting through her speakers and she was grateful it was loud enough to drown out the bickering going on inside her head.

It took a surprising amount of time to get to the dirt road depicted on the local map Bill had lent her. It looked like it had fallen to disuse and weeds were sprouting up on either side. She turned down the road and rocks spat up at her windshield and against the doors. The car shifted and lurched under her as she drove over a large pothole and bounced out of it. Dust billowed up into the air and coated the windshield in red-brown. She flipped on the wipers which only served to streak the dirt across the glass. She thought of using wiper fluid but didn't want mud running all down the front of her car. She'd just have to grin and bear it.

The road curved around through patchy areas of thin trees and farther away from the main road. A squirrel ran across the road, narrowly avoided her tires and headed up a tree where it disappeared into a knotty hole. Cat huffed under her breath and paid special attention to other ground mammals that may decide to jump out in front of her car. As she turned around another corner, the trees got denser and walls of rock began to rise up to plateaus. A cliff loomed over her casting a shadow over her car. She slowed to a stop and picked up the map. The map only showed a short, straight line as the dirt road then it ended. She had no idea where she was going. There was nothing near the marked route on her map that resembled the road she was currently on. Perhaps it had been abandoned such a long time ago that only the first fifty or so feet was recorded on the new maps. In any case, she needed to keep going – even if this was the wrong road, she couldn't turn around here. There were trees to her left and a rock wall to her right. She'd have to find a shoulder or something to pull into unless she wanted to go in reverse out to the main road.

Cat threw the car into drive and hurried off to find somewhere to turn around. She didn't see how a semi could make it down here, so it couldn't have been where John wanted to meet her. Larger rocks speckled her windows and she thought for sure one of them was going to crack the glass. That'd be another couple hundred dollars she didn't need to spend.

Now there were two rock walls she was driving between. The trees had thinned and were nowhere to be seen. Scraggly brush grew alongside the road with bright flowers hidden in the shade of the cliffs. Something moved in the foliage to her right as she drove by and a flock of small black birds took off into the air. Up ahead the road disappeared around the rocks and she was sure that it ended there. If it did, she'd have no choice but back up the entire length of the road. She cursed herself for being so stupid as to get lost. There was no use in turning back now, though. Might as well see the end of the road.

The car drifted choppily around the corner and she was surprised to see the plateaus suddenly end and she was back driving on an open road, flat land on either side. She looked in her back window to see the rocks slowly begin to shrink in size as she got farther away. Why hadn't she seen them from the road? They were huge!

Cat looked towards the horizon and could barely see anything. The sun was reflecting gold off the rocks and heat waves were radiating in the air, distorting the view. She couldn't see very much on either side of her and the main road was lost to her sight. It was fairly easy to not see the plateaus from the main road; she could barely see ten feet in front of her car without the air becoming hazy. She really had no idea where she was. She squinted her eyes against the blinding light and slowed to keep the car on the road. The last thing she needed was to end up in a ditch somewhere on a dirt road miles from where she was supposed to be. Who was gonna come get her then?

As she continued, she thought she saw a figure up ahead. She narrowed her eyes and shaded them with her hand. It appeared as if someone was standing in the road, moving slowly forward. They were moving just about as slowly as she was. Curious as to who else could be out there in the heat on the abandoned dirt road, she began to speed up to catch up with the moving body. As she got closer, it seemed to move off towards the side of the road to her right. They must've seen or heard her and got out of the way so she could pass. They kept walking.

She kept driving, pressing on the gas a little more and the car bounced over hills and dips in the road. The person was still moving, but a little bit faster. She couldn't tell if they were headed towards her or away from her. The dust was picking up and making it harder to see. The person was keeping the same distance between them and the car, so they must've been heading away from her and at an impressive speed. She really wanted to find out who this was. She sped up even more and rocks pelted her doors and windows with a fury as she peeled down the road in a hurry. Now the person was running. But they couldn't keep up the pace and soon she was closing in on them.

_Finally_, she thought as the figure got closer, _I'll see who it is. Maybe they know where I am. _

Thick clouds of red dust swirled up in the air and the person hoofed it down the road. Closer, closer, closer. It seemed almost appropriate as the adrenaline ran through Cat's veins and the music playing over the speakers swelled up. What song was that? She noted absentmindedly that it was Band of Horses – and which song? The Funeral.

At least she was close enough to see that the figure was an old man, limping as he tried to hurry down the road. His jacket was covered in dirt and a dark, shiny substance. He didn't look back at the car as it came speeding down the road but he covered his head with his hands. Suddenly he was thrown off balance, his foot sliding over a loose rock and down he went. He collapsed and tumbled over the side of the road into a rut where he lay as the car shot past.

Cat was screaming as she slammed on the brakes, having seen the old man hobble down the road and fall into the ditch. Her brakes squealed and she was thrown forward into her steering wheel. She threw off her seat belt, jumped out of the car and scrambled to the side of the road where the man was huddled on his side. He was shaking and sobbing into the dusty ground, his hands covering his head. His knuckles were bruised, bloodied, scraped. Cat dropped to her knees and grabbed the man's shoulder to help him up but he just shrank down and let out a desperate cry for mercy. She was stunned and confused.

"Please!" he rasped out, quivering under his large jacket. The back of his head was covered in dried blood and there was a nasty gash on his crown, as if he'd been hit with something hard. "Please! I wasn't going anywhere!"

"Wha – What do you mean? I … let me help you!"

The man howled in fear and clasped his fists to his face.

"Please," Cat begged, grabbing his arm tightly and rolling him over to see his face. He was beet red, blood and tears running down his mangled face. There was a yellow bruise on his nose which sat crooked on his face. It'd recently been broken. There was a puddle of dried blood at his nostrils that had dripped down his lips to his chin and he was missing several teeth. "What – What happened to you?"

Suddenly, as if realizing something, the man opened his eyes and looked up at Cat. Fear was written all over his face and he gasped as if he were shocked to see her. He grabbed her hands and pulled himself up to her. He stank of sweat and dirt. "I – I thought you were him," he barely managed to whisper.

"H-Him? Him who?"

He struggled to breath as he jaggedly turned his body and pointed a knobby finger to the distance. Cat looked over and squinted into the sunlight. Out of the haze came the looming silhouette of a building. Light reflected blinding white off a few windows but the rest was indiscernible to her. The man clasped her arms and she looked down at him again. He was trying his hardest to breath but the shock, or perhaps a punctured lung, made it difficult. His eyes locked onto hers and tears ran down his face.

"I w-wasn't supposed … to leave," he coughed. "I didn't get … very far … before I had to turn back … I h-heard the car and I thought …. I thought it was him …."

Cat was stunned. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind but all she could think of was helping the man. "You need a doctor."

He shook his head violently. "I-I can't leave here! If he finds out …!"

"Who is _he_? Why are you here?" Before he could answer, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pushed him into a sitting position. "I have to get you to a doctor."

"No!"

"You're bleeding! You just fell into this ditch -"

"No," he said again. "I threw myself into it!"

"Why?"

"I thought … if you were him, I didn't want him to see me. When you sped up, I – I thought he was coming to kill me! I threw myself into the ditch! I hoped that either he wouldn't see me or the fall would kill me! It seems that it didn't work..."

All thoughts of being lost in the desert and meeting John were cast aside as she hoisted the man to his legs and ushered him towards her car. The music was blaring loudly into the open air and she suddenly regretted ever turning on the radio. If there really was someone out there who was trying to kill this man, then it would be very easy for them to find her just by following the music.

"Come on," she grunted as she pulled open the passenger door. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" he asked worriedly as he fell into the seat.

"To the hospital." She slammed the door shut and ran around to her side of the car. She switched off the music, closed the door and looked to her rear view mirror. "Crap."

"What?"

"I – I can't turn around here."

The man looked around as if someone was going to pop up out of nowhere and drag him out of the car.

"I … I have to go up there."

The man's face paled even more and he blubbered, "Y-You can't!"

"I'm sorry, I have to. I can't turn around here, or else I'll end up in the ditch."

"I'll get out and watch you! I'll tell you when you're too close, I can -"

She shook her head. "You can't hardly stand. It won't work." She cast a wary glance towards the shadowy building ahead. "I'm just gonna find a place to turn around, is all. We'll be fast. I can drive. Don't worry."

The man was crying now, hiding his face with his hands and shaking his head. Cat swallowed hard, buckled her seat belt and forged ahead slowly. A quick glance in her mirrors told her that it was now or never. If someone was in the building, she needed to hurry – and if someone was coming back down the road (the only road in and out of this place as far as she could see) then she _definitely_ needed to hurry. She picked up the speed slowly at first and when the man let out a sudden cry, she floored it.

The car jerked around on the uneven road and the man struggled to lash his seat belt around his waist before he went through the windshield. The building was getting bigger and becoming more defined. She saw a garage door, opened, an old beat up truck resting on cement blocks and wooden sawhorses set up with long planks of heavy wood.

A large rock came up and hit the back window which made the man shrink back into his seat and sob out prayers. Cat sped up to the large lot and jerked hard on the steering wheel. The wheels let out a horrible squeal as the car flipped a 180 and kicked up a storm of dust. She took off down the road without being able to see and was immediately defeated by an unseen foe. The wheels popped loudly and Cat screamed as the car puttered and died in the middle of the road, not fifty feet from the building. She turned the wipers to high but dirt kept settling on the glass.

"What was that?" she cried out, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and holding onto the door with the other. The man was useless with information. He held tight to his shirt front and kept on praying. She strained to see out of the window but it was futile. Finally she turned to the man. "I have to get out."

She'd never seen more despair on a face before. It made her heart hurt.

"I'm sorry," she could barely say it. "I'll be right back. I'll be fast, I promise."

All he could do was shake his head.

Cat hesitantly opened her door and freed herself of the seat belt before climbing out of the car. The dust was still in the air but she could see the building behind her. She squinted into the air and looked down towards the road. She had heard the tires pop, but why? She stepped away from her door and walked towards the back wheels. They were flat and nearly shredded to pieces. Dumbstruck, she walked around the car to find the other three were the exact same. Bits of black rubber were tossed across the road and some had landed in the ditch. She returned to her side of the car and stood there.

"Well?" the man managed to ask after a while. "What is it?"

Cat was at a loss for words. "I … uhm … the tires."

"What about them?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "They're … flat."

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"I mean … they're flat. They're completely destroyed. It's like someone ..."

"Laid out road spikes?"

Cat ducked to look into the car at the man. He was biting his bottom lip and his hands were in his lap. He was looking forward through the windshield at the road.

"How did you know?"

He said nothing.

"Sir? How did you know that? Did you –?"

"You see that pick-up?"

She turned her head towards the old truck on blocks. She nodded. "Yeah."

"That's my truck."

Cat couldn't say anything. She just looked at the man. He seemed to be calming down. He took in a long, shuddering breath and finally turned his eyes to her. They were no longer filled with despair or fear, but something far worse – hopelessness.

"I told you not to drive up here," he whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "That's how he got me."

"_Who is he_?" Cat shouted at the man, more scared than angry. "Why do you keep saying that? Who is he? What does he want? Why are you here?"

The man just pressed his lips together. "Now you're stuck." He looked down the road again then back at Cat. "And now he's going to get you too."

Before she could even open her mouth to ask him another question, there was a loud bang that echoed through the still air. The man's face went pale and the window behind him shattered. His head fell back, caught on the seat belt, a bullet hole through the middle of his forehead. Cat screamed for the third time that day. Without thinking she took off running in the direction of the building, tripping over the edge of the road spikes that had been hidden in the dirt. Stumbling to her feet she ran into the open garage door to the back of the building and threw herself behind a stack of cardboard boxes and plastic barrels. She sat in the dark, sobbing, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

That man, whoever he was, was just _shot_. He had just been killed right before his eyes – she had seen it happen. It happened so fast. There was the sound of a shot and then, bam! He was dead, a hole in his head and blood all over the inside of her car. She looked down in disgust and nearly vomited when she saw all of the blood on her arms and shirt. She could only guess that it was all over her face as well.

Out of the stillness came the sound of rocks crunching under heavy boots. Cat threw her hands over her mouth to keep from making any noise and closed her eyes tight. She stifled her sobs but tears still ran down her blood-stained face. The crunching noise stopped suddenly and silence followed. She slowly removed her hands from her mouth, sticky stands of saliva connecting her lips to her palms, and shuffled on the ground to peer around the boxes outside. She could see her car on the road, the dust settling to the ground. From this angle she could see the shattered window and the back of the man's head and she covered her mouth to keep from retching at the sight of blood pooling on the dusty ground. There was someone standing on the other side of the car at the driver's door. They were tall with wide shoulders and a heavy black coat on.

It was a man, she could tell, but that was about it. He held a large rifle in his hands and shifted the strap over his arm and ducked into the car. He rummaged around it for a bit then emerged, standing straight. He tossed something into the air and caught it in his large hands. They glinted in the sun for a moment – her keys. He looked down at them for half a moment then pocketed them. If she hadn't known better, she would've thought that whoever that was had done that so she could see he had her keys. But that was impossible – he had no idea she was there. At least, she didn't think he did. He had obviously seen her car and probably saw her when he aimed at the man in her passenger seat. Did he see her run into the garage?

Cat looked around to the high, open ceiling. There were exposed beams and columns of metal running to the ground. Shelves were packed high with tools and tins and cans. The crunching sound resumed and brought her attention back to the front of the shop. The man with the rifle was walking around the car. He stopped at the broken window and looked down at the dead man. He muttered something, reached into the car and returned with something else. Cat couldn't see what it was from where he stood.

Suddenly the man turned and Cat ducked behind the boxes again. She knocked her elbow into a stack of uneven boxes and they began to shift. She grabbed the corner and pushed the top one back as quietly as she could. She stood still for a second but she didn't hear anything. Kneeling back down, she looked around to see the man was in the building. Her heart stopped and she was cold all over. He was facing the wall next to the open garage door. His hand shuffled in one pocket and pulled out something – another set of keys. These weren't Cat's, they were in the wrong pocket. He lifted them to the wall and dropped them onto something. As he stepped away Cat could barely see that they were now resting on a nail next to at least a dozen other pairs of car keys. There was nothing but fear in her now.

The man walked out of the building towards her car. He climbed in the driver's seat and fiddled around with something then the car roared to life.

_He didn't use the keys_, Cat thought. _He hotwired my car._

He sat with one leg out of the car door skimming the ground and jerked on the steering wheel, getting the car to roll forward. Soon it was turned towards the front of the building and the man got out, slamming the door shut behind him. He stood at the back of the car, placed his hands on the trunk and pushed on the car. It rolled up the road and disappeared somewhere outside of the garage. She heard the door open again, the chime reminding the driver to fasten their seat belt, and then the door slam shut. Then came the sound of feet shuffling on the ground but she never saw the man again. Soon there was silence.

Cat's skin was prickling and she couldn't tell if it was because she was scared or cold. She seemed to have lost all heat in her body despite the temperature outside. She took in a low, shaky breath and crouched on her toes. Slowly she rose up and shuffled out from behind the boxes and barrels. She took cautious steps towards the front of the building, glancing around to make sure no one was there. She was just about to step out of the garage when she spotted the keys. She stepped to the side and scanned the rows of keys until she found the most recent addition. She touched the brass and silver keys, turning them to see if there was any indication of what they belonged to. They weren't her keys, she'd been right. But she couldn't tell what they belonged to. There wasn't any brand or logo on them stating the car or truck they operated. She picked up a slender silver key and turned it to read a word engraved on the side when it caught the sun and glinted outwards. She dropped it immediately and it jingled against the other keys.

Almost instantly came the sound of boots on gravel and she had to bite her tongue to keep from cursing out loud. She jumped backwards into the dark and, realizing she had no time, pressed her back to the wall and tried to squeeze behind some boards leaned up against the wall. She turned her head down and held her breath. The boots came closer then stopped. It seemed like forever and Cat thought for sure she'd either pass out or have to take a breath (either of which would make noise). Finally the boots moved on and they got quieter the farther they got. It wasn't until she couldn't hear them at all when she finally exhaled.

She pushed herself out from behind the boards and crept to the edge of the garage door. She glanced around and, seeing no one in the immediate area, set one foot out of the garage onto the dirt ground. She looked around but saw no one. She took a few hesitant steps out from the safety of the building, cautious to not make too much noise. Another preliminary check to see if there was anyone in the area then she took off running. She raised up dust under her feet as she bolted down the road, jumping over the puddle of blood already turning brown in the sun. There was a crack behind her and she glanced over her shoulder at the building but saw no one.

Cat knew she wasn't in the clear yet, but if that man was still in the building, she had a pretty good chance of making it at least part way to the plateaus before he found her. Her heart leapt at the prospect of making it down the road, through the winding curves between the cliffs and out to the main road where she could flag down someone and call for help. Turning back around to catch her footing when she felt a rock move under her, she collided into the heavy body of someone. She reeled back and fell to the ground in a flurry of dirt and pebbles. She let out a shriek, throwing her arms up to protect herself. The only person she could figure who'd be out here was the man she'd seen digging around her car.

Whoever she'd run into reached down and grabbed her arms, hauling her to her feet. She tried to tug free and began screaming though she was sure no one could hear her. Suddenly she was being shaken and someone was speaking to her. She shook her head and cried; surely she was going to die now. That man was right – he had got him and now he's got her.

Through her wailing she heard, "Cat!" The sound of her name being shouted at her stunned her to silence. Had this been a dream? Who on earth out here knew her name? Maybe she had been having a nightmare and someone had rushed in to her room to wake her up. She peered up slowly, blinking away dirt and tears. No, this was no dream. The rough fingers digging into her arms released her and she had to carry her own weight, standing on shaky legs. She looked up, shell-shocked, at the man before her. He looked at her then a grin spread across his face.

"Hey, Cat."

She was too stunned to say anything.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

Her mouth opened but she couldn't speak. She felt like a fish. Instead she motioned to the building behind her, turning to look at it. Feeling exposed with her gaze off of him, her head snapped back to the man in front of her.

"J... John?"

"I think you got a little turned around. I did leave you an address, but it was a few miles back down the road. You weren't supposed to come here." He was still smiling. "I guess you found my hideout."

Cat swallowed and her throat burned. "Your … _hideout_?" she barely managed to squeak out.

"Come on. Let's get you something to drink. You look like you've been out in the sun too long." He went to put his hand on her shoulder but she stumbled backwards out of his reach. His eyebrows knitted together. "What's wrong?"

"You … Your … hideout?" She felt like her knees were going to give out but she couldn't let them. If she collapsed now, he'd be able to scoop her up and take her away. She wasn't going to let herself be kidnapped. "It was you ….?"

"It was me? That... what?"

Cat was at a loss for words. John just stared at her, raising his eyebrows as he waited for her to finish her thought. She looked around the ground as if her words had been spilled upon the road and she could gather them up to speak. She looked up at him again. "That … man..."

"What man?"

"T-There was a man and he ..." The sun was too bright for her and the air was too dry and dusty. She felt like she really could use something to drink but she wasn't about to go and ask John for something. It seemed like she had hit her head and she had a concussion. Maybe that's what had happened. When she had slammed on her brakes earlier, she hit her head and everything after that was just an elaborate hallucination created by her bruised brain. She looked to John. "You shot him."

Instead of looking confused he just grinned from ear to ear. "You have been out in the sun too long."

"No, I – I haven't! You shot him, didn't you? I saw -"

"You saw what?"

She paused. "I saw a man ..."

"Yes, you've said that."

"No, I-I saw another man. And he … he shot this other guy."

"You saw him shoot him?"

"...Well, no, but I-"

"So you didn't see him shoot this guy?"

Cat shook her head. "S-Stop it! You're confusing me. I..."

"Okay, how about we start with names. Maybe that'll make it easier."

"I don't know their names! I don't know any of these people!"

"Okay, so we'll make up names."

"Wha –?"

"Let's call the victim Dave and let's call the shooter John – since you were so convinced it was me. Okay, now, let's start from the beginning."

Cat stared at the man for a while then slowly ran over the situation in her head. "I... I saw Joh... I saw Dave get shot."

"No, no, I mean from the real beginning. This morning."

She felt cold even in the sunlight. She pushed her hair behind her ears and desperately wished that she was still hallucinating. "I woke up and left the motel -"

"You're missing the part where you and I talked."

Silence. "I woke up …. and you were there … and … we talked."

"Go on."

"Then … I left -"

"To meet me."

"...yes." She felt almost ashamed for admitting it. "I followed your instructions -"

"Pretty poorly, I think, if you ended up here."

"- there was only one road. I was going to turn around but I couldn't. I thought if I kept going the road would lead out or I could find someplace to turn around. I kept driving and then … I-I saw someone on the road."

"Is this Dave or John?"

"I-It was Dave..."

"Mmhm."

"I... I thought maybe they – he – could help me find a way out, so I drove up to him and he … fell into the ditch."

"He fell?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure he didn't jump?"

_Don't tell him, don't tell him._ "I'm pretty sure he fell."

"All right, then what?"

"Th-Then I got out of the car and … I helped him and I was going to take him to the hospital – but I couldn't turn around. So I drove up to here and when I got the car around I didn't have tires -"

"No tires?" There was amusement in his eyes.

"- I got out to look and then I heard something and..." She stopped, the image of the man with a bullet hole in his head still vivid in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and a few stray tears fell to the ground. "And someone shot Dave."

"Was it John?"

"I don't know... I just ran."

"Where to?"

"That building."

"You went inside?" His voice didn't change but something in his eyes was different. He watched her carefully now, all amusement gone from his expression.

"J-Just into the shop. I hid and heard someone coming. I just saw some man at my car. He took my keys and … he pushed my car somewhere and then I ran out and – here's you!"

His jaw tightened. "What did he look like?"

"I don't know, I just barely saw him. He was wearing a black coat, though. And boots, it sounded like. He had a rifle..."

John stared at Cat for a while and she felt very much afraid. She wished she hadn't said anything to him, hadn't followed him here, hadn't left Ryan and Amy on their vacation. He turned his eyes towards the building, scanned around then looked back at Cat. His face was grim for a while then he broke into a smile.

"How about some water? I have some inside."

Cat wanted to scream, "I don't want water! I want you to help me!" but her lips were sealed shut and she just bowed her head and let the man guide her back towards the building. He led her around the side where there was a crooked door hanging on rusted hinges. He pushed it open and she stepped inside. The room was dark and smelled of sawdust and heat. He flipped on a light which did little to brighten the room and made his way through clutter towards a tiny kitchen.

"I have water," he muttered, opening the small fridge. "But tap's no good, only bottles. I have some Cola, if you want that." When she didn't respond he looked over at her. "What do you want?"

She shook her head and stood awkwardly in the center of the room. He looked up her and down.

"You can take a seat."

Cat glanced towards the low couch and a few busted arm chairs. She shuffled to a chair and sank down into the cushion. If she sat here, there was no way he could sit beside her. He grabbed a bottle of water and hustled out of the kitchen to her. He held it out to her and she took it gingerly. He held a glass beer bottle in his other hand and held it up.

"Unless you want this."

"I can't drink."

"It's not like I'm going to tell." He looked at her and she realized what he was actually saying was, "_You're_ not going to tell" and he didn't mean about the beer. She shook her head and held the cool bottle of water in her hands.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, you sound like you are." He took a seat on the low couch and watched her. The beer settled between his thighs and he didn't bother to open it. Cat didn't move from her seat on the chair and stared straight ahead towards the dinky kitchen ill lit with a small bulb. She felt as if she shouldn't breathe; it required movement and created noise, which seemed deafening in the room. She was so scared. John finally broke the silence.

"So your car's busted." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"How'd that happen again?"

"I … I'm not sure. I probably ran over a nail." She knew she was lying, she'd seen the road spikes lying in the dirt. She knew he probably knew she was lying too.

"Hmm, probably. There's a lot of nails out here." When she didn't respond, he continued. "Where is your car by the way?"

She shrugged and the movement hurt her. "I-I don't know. He pushed it somewhere, I guess."

"Who did?"

"John." She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes and she saw him smirk at her but it was gone instantly and he leaned back into the couch.

"You should really drink that water," he motioned to the bottle in her hands. "You're going to get dehydrated."

Cat felt so cold she couldn't understand how she'd suffer heatstroke. But when John refused to break eye contact with her she gave in and opened the bottle. The water was cold in her mouth and burned on the way down. It didn't seem to help at all.

"How _did_ you manage to get all the way out here?" He asked, picking at the lid of his beer bottle. "I thought my directions were pretty clear."

"I borrowed a map from the motel. I guess it was dated."

"Hmm. You've got to be careful with things like that. Old maps will get you lost faster than directions from a woman." He winked playfully at her but she didn't laugh.

"Why..." She stopped.

"What?"

"Uhm... why did you want me to meet you?"

He shrugged. "I thought we could talk."

"W-Why couldn't we talk somewhere …"

"Less secluded?"

Cat didn't nod.

"Well, I guess I thought I'd make you work for it a little. You can't always get what you want when you want it. Sometimes you have to earn it."

"What am I supposed to be earning?"

"Respect. Trust. I'm sure there are other things you could earn."

Cat suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable in her position. She wanted to change the subject; the look John was giving her made her feel uneasy. "Why were you here if I was supposed to meet you somewhere else?"

He took a moment to think it over. "I had to stop here to get something."

_That man? _"What was that?"

John exhaled through his nose and it was supposed to be a laugh. Cat knew his thoughts immediately: _You_. He knew she'd been there. He knew she would follow his directions on the card and get lost and end up here – the only place that the road led to. She hadn't gotten lost because of an old map or anything, he had led her here. And she'd been foolish enough to fall right into his trap. If she had the card on her she was sure she could match the address on it to the one on the side of the building. They were one in the same, she just knew it. This was where John wanted her.

"I don't understand."

"What's that?"

"When I first met you … you said that you were from all over. I-If you don't have a place to call home … how … _why_ do you have this place?"

She couldn't read his expression now but she was sure it wasn't good. He didn't say anything for a while but she could feel his eyes boring into her, as if he could make it all the way into her mind and read her thoughts and she really didn't want him there.

"You should drink your water."

"I know, you've said that already."

"That's because I ... I'm worried about you." He couldn't say it. He thought it sometimes but he wasn't ready to say it: _I care about you_. You care about your friends, your parents, your children, your significant other. He didn't have any of those; he wasn't sure yet if he cared about her. He didn't know how it would feel to care about someone, and even if he did it's not like he could do anything about it. He was pretty sure she didn't care about him.

"There's nothing to be worried about," she muttered, glancing down towards the floor. Papers were scattered everywhere, bits of old newspaper, some magazines. Her eyes drifted around the room towards the kitchen with its flickering light then to the other arm chair in the room, just as abused as the one she sat in. She wondered why he had so many seats in this room; he seemed a solitary type. Obviously he didn't have too much company. There was no TV that she could see but a little bookshelf against the wall filled with thick volumes all faded and covered in dust. A stack of dismantled newspapers sat on top of the bookshelf, weighed down by a glass paperweight. She wasn't sure what it was made of, but there was a design in it that barely gleamed visible from the overhead light.

"How long have you been here?" John asked and she heard the beer bottle fizz as he finally opened it. She wasn't sure with what, he hadn't been holding a bottle opener.

"Not long," she said quietly. _But far too long for my liking_.

"Glad I'm came when I did, then. I wouldn't want you here by yourself, wandering around. There's some dangerous equipment out in that shop."

_He probably has a knife_, she suddenly thought. _That's how he opened the bottle. He has a knife in his pocket. He's gotten it from the kitchen. There's nothing dangerous in the shop – it's all in here_.

"What do you use the shop for?" She asked it before she even thought it through.

"Oh, just storage mostly. I keep a lot of tools in there. I'm rebuilding some cars right now."

"Like that truck out there?"

He was silent for a while then nodded. "Yeah. That's one of my most recent projects."

"It doesn't have any wheels."

"Yeah. I bought it that way."

"How'd you get it here?"

"I put it on an auto transport and drove it out here."

"With what?"

"My truck."

"Your truck?" Cat was still looking around the room, her hand squeezing the neck of her water bottle. "Why do you need two trucks?"

"What can I say? I love cars."

_Is that why you hitchhike? _"Do you think you could fix mine?"

"Sure. I'll have to go buy some tires for it, first. That'll take a while. A couple of hours to get them changed and make sure there's nothing else wrong with it. I don't want to send you off with a busted car and have you break down in the middle of nowhere."

"Right. Thanks..."

"It may take a while," he repeated. He wanted to see if she was paying attention. "Maybe all day. I might not get it done until tomorrow."

She wanted to say, "That's fine" just to show she was listening, but her attention was no longer on him. It was on the door, or rather the coat hooks nailed next to it. There were three of them, worn brass and dull in the light. One of them held a heavy, dark coat covered in dust and an indiscernible wet substance. The second was empty but the third held a keychain with three shiny keys. Cat's heart was pounding in her head as she saw the pale pink nail polish on the head of one key – the flower she'd painted when she first got it. It was to distinguish the car key from her house key (the other silver key she had). She'd messed up one petal and it was significantly longer and fatter than the others and she'd never been able to fix it. The keys sat quietly on the hook, glinting in the soft light as they stared at her from across the room. Her breath hitched in her throat and John knew something was wrong.

He had fallen silent and turned his eyes toward the wall as well where he saw the keys. Instantly he knew what Cat was thinking. She swallowed dryly and clutched at the water bottle between her legs, trying to force herself to say something to make John think she hadn't seen the keys but it was too late. He already knew.

She slowly turned her head to look at him. He was already staring at her. She dug her nails into the hard plastic lid of the bottle and waited a moment or two. She gently slid half an inch forward, her feet planted solidly on the ground and watched as John's fingers twitched around his beer bottle. A second passed, then three, then five.

Cat was up in a heartbeat, flinging the water bottle down and sprinting towards the door. John was on his feet as well, charging after her. She had just made it to the door, her hand on the doorknob when he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. She screeched as she clawed the air to get a hold of the door again but John had already flung her to the side onto the ground. She scrambled backwards and searched for something to fight him off but there was nothing but papers.

John reached her in three great strides, grabbed her wrist and yanked her onto the couch.

"Please!" she screamed, her free hand instinctively going over her heart. "Please don't kill me! I won't say anything, I promise! Just let me go!"

"I can't do that," his voice rumbled low in his throat.

Cat was sobbing now, her hair falling over her face and sticking to her cheeks. "I don't wanna die," she murmured through tears. "Please just let me go."

"Do you know how many people have said that?" he wanted to say, but instead he pulled her to her feet, wrapped an arm under her shoulders and heaved her towards the door.

"Where are we going?" she cried, struggling to keep up with the man's massive steps.

"You'll see."

She shook her head, "I don't want to –!"

"I have something to show you." He pulled open the door and shoved her through it into the sunlight. Her eyes burned at the sudden light and she fell into John's chest. He smelled like sweat and copper – no, blood. He still had stains on his shirt that had escaped the fabric of his coat. He shoved Cat around the corner and in the direction of the garage door. She cried harder when they trampled over the blood in the dirt that had since turned black.

"Don't –!" she begged, "I'll do anything! Just please don't kill me!"

He gritted his teeth and his fingernails bit into her arms. "I'm not going to kill you!"

"Then what are you going to do?" Bad question. She really didn't want to know.

"I said I want to show you something – stop moving so much!"

Cat tried to obey (she hoped that if she did what he asked, he'd soon release her) but it was hard. Her legs had gone numb and wobbly and she couldn't think straight. The thought of being killed by this man was the only thing in her mind and it was scaring her into a panic. She leaned into his body as he walked her into the garage. He reached for a light switch somewhere along the wall but Cat slipped and he grabbed her and ushered her forward.

_Forget the light_, he thought, clasping the weeping girl in his arms, _I don't need it._

He maneuvered around tool boxes and crates to the far corner at the back of the room. Hidden behind a work bench stacked with empty coffee cans, there was an old door. The paint was chipped and the hinges were hanging off the wood.

"Sit here," he commanded and dropped Cat onto a dirty step stool. She watched as he threw his weight against the bench and pushed it aside. The legs scraped along the ground and her ears hurt. What was he doing? He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked back at her. Realizing she wasn't going to move on her own, he pulled her up, dragged her to the door and pulled it open with as much strength as it took to move the bench. The room was pitch black and smelled rancid. Cat threw a hand to her mouth and she felt bile rise at the back of her mouth.

John stepped inside the room and groped the wall for a switch. The light buzzed on and clinked, filling the room with a dull orange light. Cat wished suddenly that he hadn't turned on the light. She'd stepped on something soft and wet when John dragged her into the room and now that there was light she could see it was a puddle of black-red and bits of what appeared to be skin floating in it. Blood spattered the walls and heavy chains hung down from a hook in the center of the ceiling. There were chains in the floor as well with heavy black manacles. A hospital tray was pushed to the side and was filled with used bandages, knives and glass bottles of clear liquid.

Suddenly it dawned on the girl. He wasn't going to kill her, he was going to torture her. She nearly pulled her arm out of its socket trying to get away from John but he held her tight and dragged her to the center of the room.

"Stop struggling," he grunted, trying to pin her arms down.

"Do-Don't!" Her voice was high and pitchy. She lashed out with her feet and elbows and tried to get away but John was much too big and strong for her and he soon had his arms wrapped around her body, her arms on either side of her. He was behind her, squeezing her like a snake and she was trying to breathe. His breath ruffled her hair and she cried. She didn't want to die, not like this. Of all the dumb ways to day, this had to be at the top. It was her own fault, she'd gotten herself into this mess.

"I don't wanna die," she said for the second time.

"You're not going to die."

"Y-You're going to kill me..." Her entire body was shaking as she spoke. A dozen images ran through her mind of her being chained up, tortured, abused.

"No I'm not."

"Th-Then you're going to torture me –!"

"Shut up!"

Her mouth snapped shut and she breathed shakily through her nose. John sighed and pressed his nose into her hair. She smelled like sun and dirt and sweat – and fear, mostly. But under all of that there was something else. Soap. A generic brand, he thought, probably from the motel. It was nice, though.

"I'm not going to torture you and I'm not going to kill you. I brought you here to show you something."

_Great_, Cat thought, _he's brought me out here to show me all the other people he's killed. He's probably torturing someone right now. What if he's got that poor man strung up in here somewhere? And he wants me to watch him mutilate his body …? _

"It's not mine."

"H-Huh?" Cat was brought out of her morbid thoughts and had just caught the last part of John's statement.

"It's not mine," he repeated.

"Wh-What isn't?"

"This shop."

"...What?"

"I found it, all the way out here. It's pretty dark isn't it?" He was looking over her shoulder at the blood-spattered walls and surgical tools. "It's been 'abandoned' for a while. No one's made any payments on it, so everyone's assumed it's empty. No one comes out here, not even realtors. They know no one wants to buy a piece of property this far out. That's why it's perfect."

_Perfect for what? Your murders, you psychopath? _

"F-For what?"

"For this." He squeezed her body tighter and turned her so she was facing the chains hanging from the ceiling. "The last guy who owned this place, he did all of this. He used to have a bunch of farmhands out here helping him with stuff. Mostly illegals, so they wouldn't tell what he did – they couldn't go to the police if they didn't want to get deported. He used to bring them in here, one by one, string them up and ..." His eyes flickered to the tools sitting on the silver tray. "It was a long time he did that, you know. Years. Well, one day I was looking for a ride – you know, like how you gave me one? – and this guy comes along. Some old guy in overalls riding in this big diesel truck. He offers me a ride back to his house so I can make a phone call, since we are out in the middle of nowhere, you know. And he takes me here. At first I think he's just some old man living out here in this rathole all alone, but then I see he has these photos of some woman and a young girl. I ask him about it and he says they're his wife and daughter – but where are they? I can tell you now, he killed them. Long before the Mexicans and farmhands, he killed them. That's what got him started. Anyways, I come to find out that he's been murdering all of these people over the years, right here in this very room, and he brought me back here not so I could make a phone call but so he could kill me too. I guess that was a bad deal on his end, though. He didn't know who I was."

_I guess I don't either. _Cat's arms were beginning to go numb and her neck hurt from holding it at an angle to keep her distance from John's face. He breathed deeply again and she felt his chin near her shoulder.

"You... You killed him?" she asked timidly.

John took a moment before answering. "Yes, and no."

"What does that mean?"

"I didn't kill him right away."

"D-Did you kill him because … he was a bad person?"

She swore she felt him grin against her hair. "No."

"Then why … why did you kill him?"

"Because I couldn't have two of us running around killing people just for fun. Besides, he was going to kill me and that wasn't going to happen." He loosened his grip around Cat's middle and brought one hand up to brush her hair off of her shoulder. "Do you want to know what I did?"

She didn't really but since he still had control over her and they were in an abandoned shop, standing in a killing room, she guessed it was better to just go with it. She nodded, "Yes."

"Well, the first thing I did was slash his tires. When he came outside, his truck had no tires at all. He couldn't do anything about it. Then when he came in here to find some spare tires I came up behind him and -" He stopped short and looked down at Cat. She was on edge, listening to everything he said. He grinned to himself and continued. "I brought him in here. Forced him to tell me everything he did to his wife and daughter and those workers, then I did the exact same thing to him."

"W-Why...?"

"Because," he muttered, "the daughter looked like you."

Cat tried to ignore the comment and continued with her questions. "D-Did you kill him then?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He said he kept them strung up for several days, didn't give them water or food or anything. Just let them hang around out here in the heat, in the dark. I figured I could only do the same to him."

"What happened to him?"

John shrugged. "I guess one day I forgot to push the workbench back into place and he got out."

"He escaped?"

"Not really."

"What do you mean?"

"He tried escaping, but … I guess I got him in the end. You helped with that, though."

"What are you talking about?"

"You brought him back to me."

"I... I didn't -"

"I believe you met him on the road? I don't know if he ever told you his name, but I told you to call him Dave. You do remember that right? It wasn't _that_ long ago."

Suddenly everything fell into place. Dave, the old man she'd seen running on the road. The one who had fallen into the ditch when she drove past. He said he'd jumped because he thought she was John. It made sense now; he was afraid not only because he had been taken hostage by John, but because he had tried to kill John and the whole thing backfired. He'd been escaping and when he saw the car; he must've thought it was John returning with a ride.

"You... you..."

"I what?"

"You didn't forget, did you?" Cat wasn't really asking, she was guessing what had happened. "You didn't forget to put the bench back. You let him out didn't you?"

John laughed softly against her hair and nodded, "Yeah."

"For … for what?"

"For fun."

Cat took in shallow breaths and steeled her nerves. "Is that why you brought me out here? You wanted me to … what? See this? You wanted me to …_deliver _Dave to your front step? So you could shoot him?"

"That's one part of it, yes."

"...what's the other part?"

"Over there." He motioned towards another door set in the far corner. It was black and hidden mostly in shadows. There was a fair amount of blood on it and a large deadbolt kept it shut. "I have a present for you."

Cat wasn't sure what was on the other side of the door, but whatever it was she knew she didn't want it. There was nothing on earth John could give her that she would gratefully accept, and any "present" that had to be locked away in a bloody kill room was most likely not something she wanted. Her legs refused to move and John had to press his knee into her thigh to get her to shuffle forward. She resisted him all the way but he just laughed softly. When they reached the door, he gripped her with one arm and undid the deadbolt. It scraped against the metal and echoed in the small room. He tugged on the door but it was stuck fast in the doorjamb.

"I'm going to need your help," he said almost kindly. Cat didn't want to help but it gave her an excuse to step away from John. She reached out and clasped the doorknob with both hands and yanked on it. It took a few strong pulls along with John pushing the door upwards, before it popped open. The smell from this room was even worse. She covered her mouth and nose and reeled backwards. John didn't seem affected by it and strode into the room. He fumbled around the wall until he found the light. It was bright white and lit up the entire room.

Cat had to squint her eyes to keep from blinding herself and peered curiously into the room. It was only slightly cleaner – there was less blood, but more indistinguishable stains on the walls and floors. Water dripped from overhead pipes to the floor and created deep puddles in the dips of the floor. In the corner there was a person, huddled over and rocking. They were dressed in dark clothes soaked through and soft sobs rose up into the still air. John stepped up to the body and stared down at it.

"Good morning."

The body stopped rocking for a moment and they slowly looked up. Cat could see it was a young girl. Her face was streaked with dirt and blood. Her hair was tangled and matted with water. She turned her eyes from John back to Cat but her expression didn't change. She didn't seem surprised to see that she was there; she looked sad and hopeless, like she knew that Cat couldn't help her. The girl turned her eyes back to John and clutched her knees.

John had stopped smiling and was concentrating on the smudged face of the girl on the floor. "Cat, I'd like you to meet this girl."

"Uhm..." Cat took a hesitant step forward and her foot sunk into a puddle. "What's … What's her name?"

"Her name's Edith."

"Ah – uhm, who … who is she?"

John glanced over his shoulder to Cat then turned back to the quivering mass on the ground and a smile spread across his face.

"Your first kill."


	7. Join the Club

**A/N: **Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I actually wrote this chapter a while ago (not too long after the last chapter) but I never got around to uploading it. I hope y'all enjoy it! I reread through some paragraphs in the older chapters and reread this one and I'm kind of happy with where this is going. I can't believe I started this in August 2011! You guys have been very faithful with following this story, and I'd like to thank all of you! I don't update as often as I should (just around once every six months) but maybe that'll change. I'm looking into getting back into writing because I have a few friends who are looking into doing sketch comedy on YouTube. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! and hopefully I'll get another one out soon!

**Disclaimer: **Nothing but OCs and dialogue belong to me. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

* * *

><p>Despite the humid heat outside, a draft picked up in the room and chilled Cat to the bone. Her arms prickled with goosebumps and she shuddered in the doorway, her foot soaked with stale water from a puddle formed on the floor. She stared at the smudged face of the girl cowering in the corner, watching the large man lean down close to her.<p>

"My _what_?"

John was kneeling before Edith, his hands resting on his knees. "Your first kill." He said it slower, louder, to make sure Cat could understand him. The girl was beyond shocked. She couldn't understand what he was saying or what he meant by it. Her first kill? What was going on?

She didn't say anything but John didn't seem to notice. He reached out and Edith flinched, shrinking back into the corner and hiding her face into her shoulder. She whimpered as he brushed his fingers against her arm.

"We've been waiting."

"What?" Cat managed to ask, her sock squishing in her shoe as she shifted her weight.

"We've been waiting."

"What do you mean?"

He looked over his shoulder at Cat and held her gaze. "A couple of weeks ago I got a ride from this girl and her friends. I killed her friends, but ..." He looked back to Edith. "I didn't kill her. I'm not sure why. I thought I had but I must've missed her artery by an inch or two. I was standing outside the car when Dave came by and picked me up. When he pulled over, Edith started moving around and making noises. I couldn't leave her, since she'd seen my face and she'd go to the cops but I couldn't kill her, since I was just about to get ride. So I pulled her out of the car and told Dave that we needed to make a call, so that's when he drove us back to his house. He put Edith in a bed and told me I could use his phone. I went outside, where I slashed his tires, then when I came back in I caught him trying to smother Edith with a pillow. I pulled him off of her and chased him outside. His truck was useless so he ran into the shop – he was headed for the tires – and I got a hold of him and threw him on the ground. I used this," he pulled out his pocketknife, "and he stayed down for a while. He'd told me about this room so I dragged him in here and put him in those chains." He motioned out of the bright room into the darker one where the chains hung in the still air. "I got him to tell me what he did to his family and that's what I did to him, as I already told you. I wasn't angry that he tried to kill Edith, I don't care about her. I was angry because he was going to kill the person I had saved for you … for your first kill."

"Why … Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because..." He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. "She is. I don't ever make mistakes. I don't let people escape, at least not those that I mean to kill. So why her? Why did I keep her alive? I've never missed before. Then I realized that it was because I wanted her around so you could be part of this, part of what I do. I … I want you to join me."

Cat's eyes widened and she stepped backwards. "You're … you're crazy."

John laughed and she couldn't tell if it was scornful or if he actually found her statement amusing. It made her feel on edge seeing that he was still holding the pocketknife. "Come on," he held out his empty hand towards her, fingers outstretched.

Cat shook her head and shuffled over the threshold into the darker room. She slipped on a puddle of blood and grabbed for the wall. She didn't want to know what she just put her hand in. "I … I would _never_ … I would rather _die_ than kill someone!"

He looked a bit hurt but he didn't stop smiling and he kept advancing towards her, hand reaching for her. "Please, Cat. Don't be so dramatic."

"No," she gasped. "You can't make me! I'm not going to kill –!"

John lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist, pushing her back into the room. He shoved the knife close to her face and let it glint in the overhead light. "You see this? I have killed … _so many_ people with this knife … and I want you … to take it," he grabbed her wrist and forced her hand up, "and use it."

"No!" she screamed as he forced the knife between her clenched fingers. "I'm not going to!"

"You have to!" He held her as he pushed her closer to the girl in the corner. "I never let anyone get away."

"I'm not you!"

He pressed his face against her and closed his eyes. "I brought her out here that night. She's been in here the whole time. I've been traveling back and forth and -"

"I don't understand, you didn't even know me when you killed her friends!"

John sighed. "I had to do something with her. She couldn't just stay in the house. She needed to go, but … it felt almost wrong just killing her. I felt like she was meant for something greater. I kept her in here until I could figure out what to do with her, and I already had plans for Dave. I started traveling again and … that's when I met you. That's when I knew – Edith was meant to be here for you. She was meant to be your first!"

"I'm confused," Cat cried, trying to drop the knife to the ground. John wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed so she couldn't let go of the weapon.

"Fine. I'll start from the beginning. A while ago I got a ride from these girls, one of them was Edith. I thought I killed them all, as usual, but it turned out I didn't. Dave came along and I took Edith with me. Dave tried to kill Edith, I put Dave out here and Edith in this room. Then I went on traveling since I couldn't kill either of them right away. Then I met you and I knew what I wanted to do with Edith. It was pure luck that you decided to come back when you did. I saw your car and just happened to find the trucker who was going to the same motel as you. I gave you the directions this morning and here we are – standing right here. Dave is dead, Edith is waiting and so am I. I'd say that we had a helluva lot of luck on our side, but I think it's more than that." His nose was pressed against her ear and she closed her eyes tight. "All of this, it was meant to be. You're supposed to be here with me, with Edith, with this knife. You're supposed to do this. We're supposed to be together."

Cat was sobbing and her knees felt weak, shaking as she tried to wriggle away from John. He held her tight and squeezed her hand even tighter, turning both their knuckles white.

"Please," she begged through sobs, "just let me go! I don't want any part of this."

"Oh, but you do, obviously. Or else you wouldn't have some all the way out here … you wouldn't have tried to find me, you wouldn't have delivered Dave to me."

"I didn't!" she screeched. "I didn't deliver _anyone_ to you! You're lying! You're trying to turn this around on me! But I haven't _done anything_!"

"That's right," John muttered, his breath ruffling her hair. "But you're going to. Right now." He forced her arm out towards Edith who tried to shrink back even farther against the wall. Cat squeezed her eyes shut to keep herself from seeing the scene play out before her.

"Just let me go," she cried, "let us both go. We haven't done anything to you!"

"I can't," he muttered, "I can't let you go. You've seen my face. I never let anyone go."

"B-But you can start, can't you? You said … you said that you felt Edith was meant for something greater. Maybe it's not being killed by me. Maybe it's – maybe it's something else. Maybe deep down inside you know it's wrong to kill her."

"It _is_ wrong for me to kill her," he whispered to her, kicking her heels so she'd shuffle closer to the cowering girl. "That's why I'm having you do it. She's yours, Cat. Yours alone."

"No," Cat shook her head, whimpering as John forced her arm closer to the girl on the floor. "Please don't make me do this."

"I have no choice. You have to."

"No, I don't," she pleaded. "If you just let us go -"

"I _can't do that_," he said a bit forcefully, pressing his body against hers. His eyes fell to Edith who was sobbing in her corner, trying to fold herself as small as possible away from the two. She couldn't get any smaller than she already was. He gritted his teeth.

"Please," Cat whispered again, "just let us go..."

"_I can't_," he nearly shouted. "Just do it!"

"No," she replied. "I won't! I won't kill her!"

"Yes you will."

"No -"

"_You will_!" John shouted. Before Cat could protest any more, he shoved his entire weight against her to propel her forward towards Edith. Still in control of the pocketknife in Cat's hand, he slashed at the young girl, cutting her across the arm that was covering her face. When she let out a shriek and tried to turn away, John twisted Cat's wrist and thrust forward, piercing Edith's shoulder blade with the knife. She howled in pain and Cat's stomach churned.

"Stop it!" Cat screamed, trying to free herself from John's control. It was useless.

"Put your hand _here_," he growled, grabbing Cat's other hand and using it to turn Edith towards them. Cat could see the girl was hyperventilating as tears streamed down her face.

"Stop! Stop it!" Cat shouted, shoving her shoulder back into John's chest. He grunted but didn't let go or loosen his grip. Instead he covered Cat's hand and used it to yank Edith's arms away and controlled her other hand to stick the knife into Edith's now exposed belly. The girl let out a surprised gasp, the action too sudden to feel any immediate pain. She looked down at the two hands covering the handle of the knife in her stomach then looked up at the closest person – Cat.

"Please," she managed to say in a broken voice, blood starting to stain her teeth and drip from her lips.

"Do it," John whispered in Cat's ear. "End it."

Cat was crying and could barely see anything in front of her. "How?" she wailed. "How?"

"Cut her throat."

She made an inhuman noise as she pulled the knife out of Edith's stomach, feeling blood trickle over her fingers. "How?" she asked again.

"Put it here," he said, guiding her hand to one side of Edith's throat, using his other hand to grasp her hair and pull her head up to expose her neck. "And slide it across."

"I can't," she replied through tears.

"You have to. You can't just leave her like this."

"But I can't kill her," she cried.

"You have to," he repeated.

"Fine," she mumbled with a cracked voice. She gripped the sticky knife handle and let out a sob, "I'm sorry." Before she could do anything further, John tightened his hold of her hand.

"Tell her to say it."

"What?"

"Tell her to say it … They have to say it."

"Say what?"

" 'I want to die'."

"_What_?"

"They have to say it … You have to tell them to say it, and once they do … you do it."

"But why?"

"Because that's how it works."

Sniffling and rubbing tears off with her shoulder, Cat looked back to Edith. Her eyes were fluttering open and close and blood bubbled out of her mouth onto her clothes. She looked towards Cat and she suddenly felt unimaginably guilty for what she was about to do. But she couldn't see any alternative. John was forcing her, literally holding her hand and guiding her through it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Edith's head shook a fraction of an inch as if to say "it's okay". Sucking on her bottom lip, Cat quietly said, "Say it."

Edith coughed, spitting blood at Cat on accident. Blood dribbled down her chin. "I … I want to die."

Cat half-wondered if she meant it. Judging from the amount of blood pooling on the floor from her stomach and the blood coming out of her mouth, she probably did. Even if she didn't, there wouldn't be much they could do for her. If, for some strange reason, John allowed Cat to take Edith to the hospital, it would take too long and chances are she wouldn't make it. And shew knew nearly nothing about healing cuts and bleeding at home, so it's not like she could play nurse for her at the house.

"I'm sorry," she said again, pressing the knife against the girl's neck. She could barely move her arm. She must've taken too long for John's liking because he held her hand tight.

"Just do it," he nearly shouted, pushing Cat's hand closer, as well as the knife deeper into Edith's skin and actually into her throat. He dragged Cat's hand halfway across Edith's throat, slicing through skin and muscle and nerves. Blood spurted out onto Cat and she gasped, screaming. Suddenly John released Cat's hand. Edith was gasping and grabbing at the wall and the knife in her throat. "You better finish it," he taunted her. "It's not nice to leave things half finished."

Cat grabbed the knife with both hands and, screaming while hot tears streamed down her face, tried desperately to cut through the rest of the girl's throat. It was difficult without John's strong hands guiding her. She closed her eyes as she tried sawing back and forth but was quickly reprimanded. John grabbed her chin and flicked her cheek.

"Look at her," he commanded.

Crying, Cat opened her eyes. She avoided eye contact with the squirming body in front of her and used the final burst of adrenaline – or fear – to cut Edith's throat. Red, sticky blood was all over her clothes and face and she could feel it all over her hands. She fell back onto the floor, tossing the knife from her as soon as she could. She nearly vomited at the sight of Edith spasming against the wall, grabbing her throat as blood squirted into the air. She fell over onto the ground, rolling in a pool of her own blood. A few shakes later and she stilled. Cat pushed herself away from the body, still sobbing. John didn't seemed unnerved. He stood up, wiping the blood off on his pants and turned to look at Cat.

"Get up."

Cat rolled onto her hands and knees, gagging as suddenly everything around her seemed too much. The blood was too sticky, the clanging of chains was too loud, the smell of putrid flesh was overwhelming. She coughed hard several times and thought she was close to breaking her ribs if she continued, but she stopped when she felt a strong arm snake under her belly and around her waist. She squirmed as she was lifted up into the air and dragged towards the door.

"Get up," he said again, tightening his arm around her waist.

"No!" she screamed, clawing at the air and catching the wall. She held on tight to the doorjamb. "Let me go! Please! I -" she looked back to the still body lying in blood on the other end of the room. "I'm going to be sick -"

"No you're not." He hoisted her into the air and her nails scraped along the wall as he dragged her out of the other room and into the garage. She struggled against his grip and he released her to close the door behind him and push the workbench back into place. Cat stumbled forward and fell to her knees again, stirring up dirt. She coughed again but the rush of fresh air held back any nauseous feeling. The scuffling of shoes behind her drew her attention upwards. John grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her up to her feet, pushing her forward.

"Walk," he ordered. She tripped over her own feet as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. She squinted and shielded her eyes with her free hand as they left the garage and stepped into the light. He dragged her back around towards the house and pushed her in through the door. She was dropped on the couch and John disappeared into the kitchen. She heard him rustling around and water running. Before long he returned with a bowl and a dishtowel.

"Here," he said, kneeling in front of her. He took the wet towel and began wiping down her arms and hands. He rinsed it in the bowl of warm water and began wiping off her face. He caught her eyes and a smile began to spread across his lips. "How are you feeling?"

Cat was silent as John wiped down her cheeks and forehead. He grinned at her, rinsing the rag in the water again. When he looked back up her mouth was still closed tight. He dipped his fingers in the bowl and ran his thumb along her bottom lip.

"You've got some blood there," he muttered, smiling. Cat repressed the feeling to gag at the thought of that poor girl's blood in her mouth. "All gone." He shifted his weight and rested one arm across his thigh. "You ready to talk now?"

Cat's breathing was steady and even but she refused to say anything to the man. There was nothing _to_ say. She watched him closely as he licked his own lips and his eyes traveled over her face.

"C'mon," he whispered, "say something."

"Why?" Her voice seemed to crack as she spoke but she couldn't help it. She wasn't going to ask for something to drink, either.

His smile widened yet again. "Sounds like you could use some water. I'll be right back." He stood up, taking the bowl and towel with him, and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of water and handed it to her. She didn't really want to take it, but she didn't want to make him angry either. She'd just seen what he could do – what he could make other people do. She hesitantly took it in her hands and set it between her legs, holding onto the bottle with her fingers.

"Why?" she asked again.

John shrugged loosely. "Why not?"

"No," she sputtered, looking up at him. He towered over her. It would've been incredibly easy for him to overpower her at any moment. His hand would've easily fit around her neck; who knew how much crushing power he possessed in his palm. Still, she continued. "Why? Why did you make me do that? Why did you keep her here? Why?"

"I already told you. I wanted you to join me."

"Aren't – Aren't – Aren't there other ways?"

"Other ways?" He sniffed and sat down beside her on the couch, tossing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her close to him. She squirmed beside him but he grabbed her arm and she stilled. "No," he said nonchalantly. "There's no other way."

"Why not?"

"You know who I am. You know _what_ I am. How could there be any other way?"

"I don't want to go with you," she said meekly. He looked down at her.

"What do you want?"

"I want to go home," she sobbed, hiding her face in his chest.

He settled back into the couch, tossing his head back to look at the ceiling. The plaster was cracked and there were water stains from the leaky roof. It didn't rain often out here, but when it did, it was very obvious that the house had more than a few problems. He softened his grip on the girl just slightly and rubbed his thumb over her upper arm.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, not quite sorry at all, "but that's not going to happen."

He didn't say anything else. He just sat there with Cat laying on his chest, sobbing into his shirt. He could feel her tears starting to penetrate through the fabric but made no attempt to stop her. He knew that when she lifted her face she'd have blood all over it again; it was all over his shirt. But he didn't really care. He let Cat cry out her emotions about being away from home and having to kill that girl and being left with a strange man. There was nothing to say – not that he _could_ say anything to comfort her. So he just sat there, and he listened to her hiccup and sob.


	8. Time for a Road trip

**A/N: **Whew! I churned this one out in one day! As soon as I published the last chapter I got the urge to start writing again, so I did . . . I hope it's all right! Now we've got the ball rolling and they're together (in a way)! Wonder what's gonna happen? I'm pretty excited to find out myself, haha. Hopefully it won't take me another six months to upload the next chapter . . .

**Disclaimer: **Only OCs and dialogue belong to me. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Please enjoy! And don't forget to leave reviews! They give me life. uwu

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><p>It was time to go. Cat had cried out the last of her tears and she was just now a blubbering mess leaning against him, tears and blood streaking her momentarily-clean face. She hiccuped a few times and sniffed. Instinctively she reached up to wipe her nose and succeeded in spreading blood across her face. She didn't notice, couldn't have known, so she dropped her hand to her side and actually settled closer into John's arm and against his chest. Despite the fact that he was a cold-blooded, murdering psychopath who kidnapped girls and gave directions to abandoned shops in the middle of the desert, it was kind of comforting to be in the arms of someone – a warm, living person. It was too bad that more than half the reason she was still resting in his embrace was because she was too frightened of what he'd do if she moved.<p>

She felt his arm shift as he sat up and gently pushed her up so she was no longer relying on him for support. She blinked a few sticky tears off of her lashes and brushed them off her cheeks. It was only then that she looked down at her hands and saw them once again covered in blood. She let out a soft whining sound and acted as if she were going to start crying again. John quickly clasped her hands and looked her in the face.

"I'll clean you up," he said quickly. Cat wasn't sure if he was trying to be reassuring or just stating a fact. In any case he stood up and guided her to her feet with his large hands. He wrapped an arm around her waist to support her and led her not to the kitchen but through another door she'd barely noticed and towards the back of the small house.

"Where are we going?" she managed to squeak out, worrying that blood was once again on her lips. Her stomach churned at the thought.

"To the bathroom."

"Why?" she asked, though the answer seemed obvious. There was a sink in the bathroom, and towels; he could properly wash her up there.

"So you can take a shower."

Not the answer she was expecting. Cat stopped short and her knees nearly gave out when John continued walking, his strong arms pushing her forward. He wasn't going to stop for her.

"Please," she began softly, shaking her head and resisting his guidance. She pressed her back against his arm and leaned her head back. "No!" she shouted in a sudden burst of energy, but it quickly drained her. She limped against him and whined again, shaking her head. "Please . . . don't. I don't want to -"

"Calm down," he ordered in a non-threatening tone. He shifted his hold on her and squeezed her hip to get her to pay attention. "You're only going to take a shower."

"No," she repeated. She would've cried if she hadn't already used up all of her tears earlier. John sighed and shoved open the bathroom door. He turned to the side and dragged Cat into the small tile-floor room and flicked on the light. It was dim yellow and cast a sickly glow on everything. Every surface was dirty – the toilet, the tub, the small sink, the medicine cabinet, all of it covered in dirt or dust or something else Cat didn't want to identify. There was an old pile of towels shoved in the corner behind the door that seemed neglected. John dropped Cat down on the toilet seat and rummaged around under the sink for a clean towel. He managed to find one large towel and a few smaller washcloths. He placed them on the edge of the sink and leaned over to the shower to turn it on. Water shot out in a quick jet and steam began rising up into the air. Soon the small room was very humid and Cat couldn't stand to be in it for very much longer – at least not as long as she was fully clothed. She was too weak to move, though, and John's large frame blocked the only exit.

Without saying much he leaned over her and grabbed the hem of her shirt. He yanked it up over her head and down her limp, spaghetti arms. She was too tired to resist, not that she'd be able to do much even if she had all of her strength. John was easily twice her size and she'd already seen what he could do – she'd _heard_ what he _had_ done.

Modesty obviously wasn't an issue with John because after he tossed her shirt on the floor he reached down for the button of her jeans. She flinched slightly, sucking in her stomach and trying to raise her arms to cover herself. His eyes flicked up towards hers and a smile played just on the corner of his lips. "It's okay," he said. It really wasn't. He knelt down and took the button between two fingers, pushing it through the buttonhole and tugging on the zipper. This was probably the most intimate thing to ever happen to her and she was frightened for her life; not exactly the romantic setting she had thought of to accompany being undressed by a man.

John tugged on her jeans until she weakly lifted herself up enough to let them slip off over her hips to her knees. She sat back down and he pulled them off by the legs. Once they were discarded in the towel pile with her shirt, he turned back and smiled widely at her. She could feel nothing. The goosebumps on her arms had faded, the rapid beating of her heart had calmed. She wasn't in a place of peace, she was just so numb to anything around her. She figured she'd die here anyway, so it wasn't much use being afraid. John wasn't afraid, so why should she be? Of course he was a man, he was in charge, and he was a _serial killer_, but that was no excuse.

She had honestly expected something terribly physical to have happened already, she was mentally preparing for it. Whatever assault he had planned for her, it'd be bad but she'd take it; she had to. There was no way out. But to her numb surprise, his eyes lingered only as far as the beginning of the cups of her bra and went no further. His jaw tightened momentarily and he swallowed then looked back up at her, catching her eyes. They held eye contact for a long while, her sitting on the cold toilet and him kneeling on the floor. The room had heated up significantly and Cat was unsure if she was happy about the house having hot water. John had said that no one had made any payments on the building, which is why it was assumed to be abandoned. Why would there be hot water? He was probably lying. She was sure he lied a lot. Serial killers do that, don't they?

"You can take your shower now," he said softly, fighting back a grin.

"Okay," she all she managed to say, in an even softer voice. They continued to sit there, staring at each other. Cat was too tired to move, her knees hurt, her stomach hurt, her head hurt. Her limbs felt like dead weights but her chest felt like it was going to float away.

"I can join you," he said after a while, no longer hiding his arrogant smirk. This sly comment jump started her heart and gave her the boost of adrenaline she needed to work her muscles.

"No," she said almost too calmly, shaking her head. She pushed herself up slowly, steadying herself against the sink. "I can do it."

"If you say so . . ." When she was turned away, John took the opportunity to look her up and down. Again, he noted to himself, she wasn't much to look at. She was _average_. Not saying that she didn't have curves; she did. She just wasn't drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn't a model. She wasn't even really worth ogling. Blondie from a few days ago had bigger breasts and longer legs and a flatter stomach; so what was with his obsession with Cat? Yes, she had fat, round lips and pretty eyes – but was she _really_ worth all this trouble? She wasn't even his type (not that he really had a type, he realized). Besides, she was young. She was still in high school, right? Yeah, she was dual-enrolled in college, but she was still in _high school_. How old was she? Seventeen? Eighteen? He couldn't remember if she told him.

Cat hobbled over to the shower, where the steam was thickest. She reached up to slide off a bra strap only to stop and glance over her shoulder at the man looming behind her. He held her gaze for a while before giving up. He smiled at her and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Before walking off, he knocked twice and said loudly through the door, "This stays unlocked."

Cat nodded then, realizing he couldn't see her, replied, "Okay." A moment passed then she heard his footsteps retreating towards the living room. She hesitated, debating whether or not to lock the door. If he came back and it was unlocked then he could easily get into the room; but he if came back and it _was_ locked, then he'd be angry, and who knows what he'd do then. She finally decided to keep it unlocked as he had requested and slipped out of her underwear. She ungracefully hopped into the tub and pulled the transparent shower curtain closed. What was the point of having a shower curtain if you could see through it? The steam quickly fogged it up, though, and created a momentary place of seclusion for her.

Looking around she found one of the washcloths John had set out along with the final pieces of a bar of soap and a half-used bottle of shampoo. She quickly rinsed off the blood on her hands and face and scrubbed her entire body with the last of the soap and the washcloth. The shampoo was cold and sticky on her scalp but it bubbled nicely and she carelessly let large globs of suds fall over her shoulders and into the bottom of the tub. The water ran from clean to red and back to clear again. The water was scalding and she was sure she'd have third degree burns by the time she was done soaking, but she didn't care. It was a relief to be under the water, and the shower was her only security from the man waiting outside in the living room. This was her private space, this was her time. As long as the water was running, she was safe. He wouldn't come into the shower, and she'd have no reason to leave. The shower was her safe place. Her sanctuary.

But, like all good things, the shower had to come to an end. She had burned her skin to bright red by standing under the hot water until it ran cold. When she couldn't stand the sharp, icy blasts from the shower head any longer, she turned off the shower and stood shivering in the tub. She waited for a minute to see if she could hear footsteps, but there was only the dripping of water off the shower head. Deciding that it was clear, she pulled back the shower curtain just enough to reach out for the towel only to be greeted by the unexpected sight of John standing right there, staring at her. She let out a surprised yelp and fell back, retreating to the cool shower behind the curtain. Instinctively she covered herself with her hands, though she was hidden by the curtain. Water droplets rolled down the clear plastic, creating little veins to see through. Soon the curtain would be completely transparent again; she couldn't hide in the shower forever.

"What are you doing in here?" she managed to ask, water dripping off her hair and nose.

"You need a towel," he replied, not in response to her question.

"I know."

"I have one."

"I-I know."

"So come out and get it."

"Can't . . . Can't you just leave it on the sink for me? And go?"

She could _hear_ the smile when he said, "No."

"Why not?"

"Just come out here."

A momentary pause. "No."

Another pause. "What?"

"N-No," she repeated. This was a risk; she wasn't sure if it was such a good idea. She'd literally just gotten out of a killing room where John had forced her to kill someone, and now she was standing naked in a shower with him blocking her only way out, holding her towel (and probably clothes) hostage; was she really in the position to be defying him?

"All right."

The statement surprised her. Was he actually going to leave?

"I'll just sit here and wait for you to come out."

Cat's heart sank into the tub and swirled around down the drain with the muddy soap and bloody water. No. _No_. That wasn't right. He was just going to sit there and wait for her? Eventually she'd have to get out of the tub, but . . . Would he really? She heard him shuffle a few steps and settle down on the seat of the toilet. Yes, he would really. Fear and anxiety settled in her stomach and she felt like crying. She really should have locked the door.

There was no other option; she _had_ to get out. Swallowing down any sense of shame, self-consciousness, or fear, she slowly peeled back the edge of the shower curtain just enough to poke her head out. She stared straight at John and he stared back at her. He held a folded towel in his lap; he smiled at her and held it up. She reached out an arm, making sure not to press against the curtain lest she be exposed, and motioned for the towel. John looked at her then to the towel.

"You want this?"

"Yes," she said quietly, fighting back tears, stretching out her fingers. She was way too far to reach it from here; he was still a foot or two away. She'd either have to get out of the tub or . . .

"Come out here and get it."

She pulled back her arm and tears welled up in her eyes. "Please don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"I just want my towel. I just want to get dressed. Please, John, please . . ."

He watched Cat for a while, his fingers digging into the surprisingly plush towel. He ground his heels into the tiled floor and lifted himself to his feet and strode towards the tub. Cat shrank back behind the curtain, her silhouette visible through the plastic curtain that was clearing up.

"If you want this, then you have to do something."

"What?" she asked from behind the curtain. He tried to smile smugly, but he couldn't. He couldn't make any sort of facial expression. He couldn't laugh bitterly at her expense or even enjoy this moment. She was at his mercy and he wasn't having any fun. He grabbed the edge of the curtain but didn't pull it back. He watched her figure through the curtain as she shrank away towards the other end of the tub.

"Come over here," he commanded. Slowly her figure returned. He barely pulled the curtain aside, "Come here." She poked her head out again, hiding the rest of herself in the shower. He looked at her, her chin nearly resting on his hand. Her hair was framing her face, curling at the ends. Her eyes looked so large and sad, hot tears and cold shower water running down her cheeks. Her lips were turned down in a scared frown, the bottom lip quivering. She was cold. She was scared. She was tired. So was he.

He leaned down and Cat forced herself to stay where she was. He met her eyes then let his gaze drop to her mouth. "Smile."

"What?"

"Smile."

Confused, she did nothing.

"If you want your towel, smile."

"Uhm . . ." Nervous, Cat tried to force a smile but it was obviously feigned.

"No," John said in his deep voice. "I want you to mean it. Give me a real smile. A genuine one."

She wasn't sure how she could manage it under these circumstances. She closed her eyes and tried to think of the funniest joke she knew, the dumbest thing Ryan and Amy had ever done, the silliest outfit she'd ever dared to wear to a school dance. None of these things were helping. They were being pushed aside by the reality before her; she was standing, exposed, in a shower while a murderer demanded she give a genuine smile in exchange for a towel. That was all the motivation she had, and it wasn't really that great. When you're frightened for your life, you find it kind of hard to give a real smile. Whatever reservations she had, she put them away for the moment. She looked up at John, holding his gaze for a long while. This was all he was asking her to do; smile. She could do that. It could've been so much worse. His index finger twitched on the shower curtain. She let her chin brush against his hand as she held eye contact and she smiled. Not a forced, awkward, "I'm probably going to die if I don't do this" type of smile, but a real smile. Somehow she managed to do it. A soft-around-the-edges, "I'm glad to know you and be here in this situation" type of smile. A smile that showed she meant it. One that she only shared with her friends, her family, the cute boy in her college class, and a few lucky strangers. One that made John's solid, cold heart skip a beat and his body warm in places that it shouldn't be. Not in this situation. Not here, not now, not with her. Again, average looking. Way too young for what he was thinking about. Yeah, he'd just had her kill someone and asked her to join him, but _this was going a bit too far_. When a serial murderer thinks something is going too far, you know something's wrong.

It would've been easy, too, he realized. He was older, taller, stronger. She was naked in a shower, doing whatever he asked so she could get her towel back. He was in a perfect position to do whatever he pleased – but he realized that he didn't want to do anything. Well, he _did_, but he didn't at the same time. It was like when he'd saved Edith for her, when he brought her to the killing room so she could join him. It was a ritual, a ceremony. He'd made it special for her; he didn't want to rush it. It was the same thing. He wanted it to be special. He was sure she was a virgin anyway. What he was thinking about would definitely not be something appropriate for someone's first time.

Suddenly, through his thoughts, he realized that she was no longer smiling at him. She was looking at him with curiosity, with reservation. Her eyes were large and wet and her hair had dripped all over his hand. He squeezed both of his hands and blinked, leaning his face away a bit from her. He shoved the towel at her and let go of the curtain.

"Here," he said, turning around and heading for the door. "Your clothes are next to the sink." With that, he left the room and closed the door behind him. A bit stunned, Cat took the moment to dry herself off and wrap the towel around her body. She peeked around the curtain to make sure he had really left and, satisfied that she was alone again, stepped out of the tub onto the dirty floor. Her old, blood-stained clothes were still lying in the corner on top of the old towels, but there were a few items folded on the edge of the sink. Surprised at these new clothes, she pulled on her underwear and bra and inspected the articles on the sink. There was a pair of jeans just one size too big and a gray spaghetti-strap tank top. He'd also managed to find a pair of sandals the right size and set them under the sink. She pulled on the clothes, feeling grateful that she had something clean to wear, though she wondered where he'd found them.

She raked her fingers through her hair (she didn't really want to use any type of hair product that Dave or whatever his name really was may have used), slipped on the sandals, tossed the towel over the discarded clothes in the corner and hesitantly pulled open the bathroom door. A little bit of leftover steam trailed out of the room into the hall. She peeked around the corner but couldn't see anything. Building up her nerve and realizing there wasn't anywhere else to go, she walked back down the hall, through the door and into the living room. John was nowhere in sight. She took the opportunity to look around the cluttered living room. Papers were scattered all over, the bookshelf was covered in a thick layer of dust, light barely leaked in through the shuttered window in the kitchen she was now standing in. Suddenly she realized she was thirsty; a quick look into the living room showed her water bottle had gone missing.

"I'll just get a cup," she muttered to herself, her own voice sounding strange in the empty house. She pulled open two different cabinets and found a row of small cups and mason jars. She pulled one of the tiny metal cups down and turned on the faucet. The pipes groaned and creaked before a quick shot of water spat out into the sink, startling her. She let out a yelp and jumped back. The faucet rattled as the water pressure built up then a stream of murky, dark brown water came pouring out. Disgusted, she rushed forward to shut off the sink. A few drops of dirty water splashed on her arms and face which she wiped off with the back of her hand. "Gross," she complained, dropping the cup on the kitchen counter. "Maybe there are more water bottles."

Shoved in the corner was the fridge which hummed in a low whir and heat radiated out of the bottom vent. She pulled on the handle and the door popped open. Cat peered in to see if there were other water bottles – and there were. Stuck right between bottles of Cola, some beer, and the mangled body of a young Mexican boy, probably around fifteen, crammed in an awkward position to fit inside the fridge. She let out a blood-curdling scream and, instead of closing the fridge, she accidentally flung the door open wider and fell back against the kitchen counter. The body was just there, watching her with glazed, dead eyes. The blood had congealed in the bottom of the refrigerator but it had done little to mask the smell. A few flies circled around the body and landed on his moppy hair.

She continued screaming, paralyzed with fear. Soon there came the hurried clomping footsteps of John and he shoved open the front door and came into the kitchen. He noticed the open fridge and took four great strides to it and slammed the door shut. He turned back to Cat and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around hers to keep her from flailing about. Her screams hadn't stopped but they had softened a bit to hysterical blabbering and whines. She struggled against his hold but he shoved his chin into her neck and told her to stop moving. She listened and nearly went limp in his arms, only making soft sobs in the back of her throat.

"That was left over," he explained, turning Cat around to look at the fridge, "from what Dave did. That kid was already in there when I got here. Who knows how long he's been in there . . . But I didn't do it." He looked at her and pressed his nose into her cheek. "Do you understand? I didn't do it."

"Y-Yes! I understand . . ." She was uncomfortable having him so close to her, touching her exposed arms, breathing hot air on her face. It was too close, it was too _intimate_. Sure, she'd just gotten through having to debate with him for a towel while hiding naked behind a curtain, but there she had the curtain to hide all of her. He was separated from her by something, now he wasn't. For some reason, she noted, he kept touching her, trying to hold her. She wasn't sure if he wanted to comfort her or he was getting some sick kick out of putting his calloused hands all over her body.

"Okay," he said, "time to go."

"What?"

He suddenly released her and headed back out the front door. Cat guessed that she was supposed to follow. She gave a final, quick glance to the fridge and retreated through the living room and out the door. Even though she'd have to be going with John, she was grateful to be leaving this place. She didn't want to spend another second in that building. She followed John around the tiny house to the back where there was an old pick-up truck. It wasn't the diesel truck he'd talked about earlier, it was something else. It was tiny and rusty and had a whole stack of tools and rope in the bed. He pulled out some keys from his pocket and yanked open the driver's door.

"Get in," he commanded. She hurried around to the passenger side, pulled open the door and hopped into the cab. The leather seats were rotting away, but what was left was extremely hot from sitting in the sun all day. She tried not to let her bare shoulders and arms rest too long against the upholstery but there wasn't much she could do. The car rumbled to life and John tore off around the building and down the road, stirring up clouds of dust and rocks. She noticed that he'd moved the road spikes so there was a clear passage for him to drive. When they hit a pot hole and she nearly went through the windshield, she decided to put on the seat belt. The metal burned her fingers as she tried to shove it into place but she kept her mouth shut about it. As they raced down the road, a thought suddenly came to her.

"Why do you ask for rides when you have this truck?"

He looked at her and suddenly she knew why.

"Oh," she said. Duh. _Obviously_. He'd only gotten the truck after he'd gotten the ride from Dave, but he kept asking for rides because that was how he got his victims. That was how he murdered people. She felt so stupid for asking. She really shouldn't have been asking things of serial killers in the first place. For the remainder of the ride, she kept quiet. She didn't even let out surprised squeals as John took sharp turns on the road through the plateaus and around corners. Where were they going? After they got out of the canyon and back on the main road, where were they headed? Back to the motel? Somewhere else? Looking around the cab she realized that she didn't have anything with her. All of her possessions had been in her car – the one that had been mercilessly sabotaged and pushed into hiding by John. Her phone, her money, her clothes. They were all gone. It was then that she really realized what had happened to her.

She'd been kidnapped.

Really, truly, actually kidnapped. She had no way of contacting anyone, she had no money to buy food or necessities. She had been taken by a strange man in a strange car to some unknown destination and now she was probably going to die or end up on the 11 o'clock news or on milk cartons, or all three. She could only imagine the worry her parents would be feeling when they heard their daughter had left early from her trip and hadn't gotten home yet. The fear they'd feel when they heard that the stretch of road she'd disappeared on had a history of missing (and dead) motorists. That the stretch of road she'd disappeared on was the current hunting ground of a certain hitchhiking serial killer. And now here she was, sitting in a rusty truck bounding down the road in the middle of nowhere, seated next to that exact hitchhiking serial killer. Her stomach flipped at that revelation. She'd probably never see her parents again. Had she already had these thoughts? She couldn't remember – too much had happened in the last few days. Way too much for her process at that exact moment. Way too much for it to actually be real – but the burn on her hands from the car metal reminded that it was indeed very much real.

Suddenly the truck came to a squealing stop and dust billowed up around them. The seat belt locked and choked Cat as she was flung forward. There'd certainly be a nice, red mark there for a while. She coughed hard as she sat back and turned to look at John. He was staring straight ahead at the road. There was still a little ways to go before the main road, but from here the horizon just looked like a mirage. The sky was turning orange and purple in the distance and she knew it'd start to get dark soon – dark and cold. The tank top didn't seem like such a nice piece of clothing after all.

"Get out," he said. To her relief, he pushed open his own door and jumped out. He wasn't dumping her in the desert after all. She followed suit and slammed the door behind her. John walked around to the bed of the truck and reached over the side, pulling out a black duffel bag. He went back to the front of the truck and started down the road. Cat hurried to keep up with him, falling into step beside him. Dirt collected in her open sandals and mixed with the beads of sweat under her toes.

"Where are we going?"

"To the main road."

"Why didn't we take the truck?"

"How would we get a ride if we already had a truck?"

At that moment Cat realized what was going on. He was still at it – and now with her in tow. He was going to hitch a ride with someone, and she'd be right there with him! The thought of seeing more blood and assisting him with more killings made her sick. She fell behind a few steps but he didn't seem to notice, or care. He knew there wasn't anywhere for her to go. She could go back to the truck, but then what? She couldn't drive back to the house – not that she'd want to. She'd have to keep driving forward and eventually she'd catch up with John. He'd be in her way on the road; would she run him over? No, she wouldn't. She couldn't run off through the desert to escape him, she'd die before she'd find anything. She was stuck with him and both of them knew it.

"Hurry up," John said, breaking the silence. He was quickening his pace so she jogged to make up the distance. "It'll be dark before we reach the road if you keep dragging your feet."

"I'm trying," she replied, swinging her arms back and forth to generate a forward motion. The sun kept beating down on her skin as she hurried down the road after John. It was hard to run in the chunky, open sandals and the dust made it hard to breathe. Still they kept on. The duffel rocked against John's back as he strode down the open road through the desert. Cat was still terrified of what would happen once they reached the main road. Her anxiety built up enough to cause her to start speaking, it was the only thing she could think of to do.

"Where did you find these clothes?"

"In the bedroom. They were the wife's."

She wanted to ignore the fact but she couldn't. She was wearing a dead woman's clothes. "He kept her clothes?"

"He killed her, they didn't get a divorce. Everything was still in the house."

"Oh."

She looked back down at the worn jeans and flowing tank top. She wondered what the woman was like; what she would have _had_ to be like in order to live all the way out here with her homicidal husband. Not that she necessarily knew he was homicidal. If she did, she probably wouldn't have married him.

"How much farther?"

"Maybe half a mile, less. It won't take long if you hurry up."

"I'm trying, I'm -" Cat didn't get to finish her thought. In the distance she could see the glinting of cars driving along the road. Filled with a new energy she took off running towards the main road. She hadn't planned on making an escape but now that she was so far ahead of John she realized it was the perfect opportunity. She could run to the main road (run half a mile? In these sandals?) and flag down a car, get to safety, _call her parents_, and get the police. Yeah, it was a perfect plan. She tried to keep up her sprint but the sun was hot, the ground was dusty, and her lungs burned with every breath she took. Her legs ached but she pushed through. All she could hear was her heartbeat and breathing, and she was sure she was home free – no matter how far the road was. It was then that she heard it. The sound of loud, solid footsteps behind her. Running footsteps. She glanced over her shoulder to see John was running after her, and he was gaining _fast_.

Cat was caught off guard by this and stumbled over her feet. She caught herself and tried to keep up her running but her ankle had been twisted in the dumb mistake of looking back and tripping. She screamed for help but the road was still too far and her voice was swallowed up by the open sky. John's footsteps echoed behind her and she let out another scream as she forced herself to move her legs. Any motion was better than stopping. Physically and emotionally exhausted, she didn't make it far before she began hobbling, her ankle causing too much pain to move any more.

John caught up to her a few seconds later. He grabbed her arm roughly and spun her around. She closed her eyes to keep from seeing the anger on his face. She half-expected to be slapped across the face but instead she felt herself being thrown over John's shoulder and lifted into the air. She kicked out her legs and screamed again, hoping someone – _anyone_ – would hear her but she knew it was futile. John held onto her tightly and kept on walking down the road, his duffel over one shoulder and Cat over the other. She would've cried, again, but she was too dehydrated to manage even the weakest of sniffles. At least she didn't have to walk anymore.

His pace didn't slow down too much to her surprise. They made it to the main road just as the sky turned violet and blue. He looked down both ends of the road and set Cat on the ground. "Can you walk?"

"I guess."

"Well you're going to have to do it anyway." He pushed her to the left and marched her down the road. She fell behind again, limping on her bum ankle. John didn't bother linking arms or holding hands or any other type of physical contact. They both knew she couldn't go anywhere, at least not very fast. She'd already tried her escape and failed miserably. She was stuck with him from now on. John glanced over his shoulder down the road.

"Cross."

"What?"

"Cross."

"Why?"

"People will be more likely to stop for us if we're on the right side of the road." He grabbed Cat's elbow and forced her across the road. They continued walking as the distant sound of an engine grew louder. Cat's head popped up and she looked back the way they'd come.

"Is someone coming?"

"Don't look back, keep walking."

She followed his instructions but listened intently to the noise of the oncoming car. It was getting closer, and pretty fast too. She continued to hobble weakly down the road as John supervised her. He shifted the duffel to his other shoulder, the one away from the road, and kicked a rock off into the dry desert. He said nothing as the car whizzed past them and continued on for several yards before coming to a slow stop. The brake lights were bright red in the cool early evening and it drew the attention of Cat. She quickly looked back at a John who barked an order to keep on walking.

"Don't say anything to them," he said. "If you do, I'll kill you too."

_Jeez,_ Cat thought, _for wanting me to join him so badly, he's sure quick to threaten to kill me. _It made sense though. You may want someone to join you but if they're more of a hassle than a benefit, it'd be easier to kill them. She made a mental note to not be too much of a hassle for him. Of course she'd already sprained her ankle so she was pretty useless there. Hopefully not too useless in order for him to ditch her.

They approached the idling car and Cat lagged behind as John approached the passenger side window. It rolled down and he bent over to look inside. He began talking with the driver and motioning back towards Cat. He nodded a few times and then waved her over. He pulled open the back door as if he were a gentleman and let her crawl in. Once satisfied that she was settled, he tossed the duffel in after her and took his place in the passenger seat.

"Thanks," he said to the driver as he closed the door. The man looked back at Cat and gave a sympathetic smile. He was in his mid-40s with soft brown hair and large, round glasses. Her heart immediately sank at the thought of watching him die.

"Are you all right? I saw you limping and that's why I stopped. Normally I don't stop for strangers, but . . . You looked like you could use some help."

She wanted to thank him but remembered the stern warning John had given her. She wasn't supposed to say anything; now she wasn't sure what she wasn't supposed to say _exactly_, but just to be on the safe side she kept her mouth clamped shut. Her eyes darted to John who had turned around to look at her too. The man looked back at John, wondering what was happening.

"She says 'thanks'," John replied as if they did this all of the time.

"Is she . . .? Does she . . .?"

"She doesn't talk," John said. It wasn't really what he was saying. He was telling Cat discreetly, "You're _not going to _talk." She knew this. She listened. She kept her mouth shut.

"Oh, well . . ." the man glanced back and smiled, "You're welcome." When he turned around in his seat he began driving again. "So what happened to you guys?"

"Truck broke down."

"Huh, out here? That's pretty dangerous. Good thing I was here to pick you up, huh?"

"Yeah, good thing." John's voice was thick with amusement but the man didn't notice. Cat bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. She looked out her window to the dark cliffs in the distance and knew that somewhere along them was a little house with a shop and a killing room. There were the bodies of the Mexican workers, Dave, his family, and Edith. The girl she killed . . . The girl _John_ had made her kill. She shuddered at the thought and rubbed her arms. She wished she had a coat, but all of her items were back in her car wherever John put it. She glanced towards the front of the small car then over at the duffel. Maybe there was a coat in there?

Cautiously she pulled the duffel closer to her. She kept an eye on the two men up front as she opened the zipper. She paused as John made a mandatory glance around the car, catching her eye. She had dropped the zipper and was sitting with her hands in her lap as if she'd done nothing wrong. He looked from her to the duffel but said nothing and turned back around in his seat.

"Where are you headed?" the man asked.

"We were headed home, but looks like we won't make it. Not without our truck."

"Oh, yeah? You guys, uhm, you . . .?" He was trying to ask what their relationship was. Father and daughter? Husband and wife? Creepy older guy with a _maybe_ college-age girlfriend?

John didn't differentiate what they were to the man, he just said, "Yeah."

"Right, right," the man said as he glanced into the rear view mirror. He knew that Cat was way too young for John but he had no place to say so. He just kept on talking to John. "So where do you need to go?"

"If you could drop us off at a motel that'd be great."

"Sure! No problem."

Cat got goosebumps as she remembered that's how _she_ met John seemingly so long ago. She'd been in the convenience store, loitering around listening to John's conversation with the cashier because _she thought he was cute_. The cashier told her to give John a ride to a motel up the road and she had, and now here she was. If she'd known that giving a ride to this man would've caused her to witness a murder, be part of another, get kidnapped, and join this serial killer's "club" then she would've said, "No thanks". But, no. She was a dumb teenager who liked to help people and now she was stuck in the back of a little car in the middle of the desert with a bum leg watching another possible death unfolding before her. She hated her life right now.

Pushing aside these self-loathing thoughts, she tugged open the flaps of the duffel and peered inside. She could barely see anything in the car and started to reach inside when John's large hand slapped down over hers and pulled it out of the duffel. She jumped and shrank back against the door, looking fearfully at him.

"Sorry," she sputtered out without thinking. The man quickly looked back at her, surprised at the new voice in the car, then at John and let out a soft kind of laugh.

"I thought she couldn't talk."

"No, I said she doesn't," John gave her a warning glare then looked at the man. "She doesn't like to talk, not to strangers."

"Oh, I get that. But, uhm . . . If she doesn't like talking to strangers, well – hah! How'd you two meet?"

"We've known each other for a while," John said as he looked back at her. It'd only been a few days but it felt like it'd been forever since she had a life before John. Before the confusion and fear and blood-stained clothes lying in a pile behind a dirty door in a bathroom belonging to a dead man.

Obviously John wasn't going to say anything more about the situation so the man dropped the subject and began discussing something else. Cat tuned out the conversation and stared out the window. It was getting dark fast and the stars were beginning to expose their shiny bodies to the night sky. She really wished she had a jacket now. Sitting in the swaying car, Cat realized just how tired she was. She slumped against the door with her head on the window and closed her eyes. The soft voices of John and the man lulled her into a dreamless sleep. She was sure it was a bad idea to sleep but she didn't care anymore. She'd been running around all day. Had it really only been that morning when she left her motel to follow John? It felt like forever ago.

The swaying of the car stopped and Cat's senses perked up at the sound of the "Door Ajar" alarm pinging overhead. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her body sore and mind cloudy. She looked around the car and saw John standing outside of it. He pulled open her door and dragged out the duffel, zipping it up and tossing it onto his shoulder.

"Come on," he said, waving her out of the car. She slid across the backseat and looked towards the driver. His head was tilted to the side, away from her, and he was extremely still. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him, fearful of what fate had come upon him while she slept. She hadn't heard anything, but then again she was so tired that she wouldn't be surprised if she slept through a third World War.

"Come _on_," John ordered again. She kept her eyes on the driver and slid to the end of the seat. She was just about to turn and ask what he'd done when the driver looked back over his shoulder and smiled at her.

"Hope you get to feeling better and get home soon."

Cat was momentarily shocked and just blinked at the man. "Thank you," she managed to say before being pulled out of the car by John's strong arms. He slammed both doors shut and pulled her towards the building the car had pulled up to. It was then that she realized they'd been dropped off at a small motel. John pushed open the glass doors and led Cat through into the lobby. She leaned against the counter as he asked for one room for the night (she pretended to ignore the fact that when the woman asked if he wanted one bed or two, he looked over at Cat and said, "One"). He was given a key in exchange for his money and he helped Cat through the lobby to a long hallway where he found their room. The key went into the lock and they went into the room.

Just as promised by the woman behind the counter – who looked a bit disgusted at the thought of John and Cat sharing a bed – there was only one mattress. John helped Cat to the bed and dropped her on the edge of the mattress. The duffel went on the floor by her feet and he closed the door and locked it. She watched him as he walked the length of the room a few times before settling in the chair beside the window and peering out beyond the loudly patterned curtain. He looked back at Cat who was looking over her shoulder at him. She turned back and looked down at the duffel.

"What's in there?"

"You don't need to worry about it."

"Okay." She dropped the subject after that. She looked back at him and then at the bed she was sitting on. "I'm cold."

John looked at her. He hesitated before standing and shedding the coat he had on. She thought maybe he'd give it to her, but instead he tossed it back on the chair and ordered her to stand. Leaning mostly on one leg she watched as he pulled back the duvet and sheets. Obviously he wanted her to get into bed. Not "he wanted to get her into bed", but "he wanted her to get into bed". There was a big difference, she noted. One was, "I'm a creep and want to feel you up and undress you", the other was, "Just lay down already you're sleepy and kind of clingy and I just want you to sleep so you stop talking". At least in this situation that's what those meant.

Cat happily obeyed his silent message and crawled into the bed, kicking off her strappy sandals and planting her face into the plush pillows. She felt the sheets and comforter being pulled over her and she snuggled farther into the down of the pillow. If she could lay here forever and never wake up, that'd be nice. She didn't feel John crawl into bed after her and when she opened one of her eyes she saw that he'd returned to his seat by the window. Thankful that he wasn't that close to her, she relaxed her body and let herself drift off to sleep again. She'd thought the shower had been her safe place before, but now she realized it was here. Under the soft sheets and sandwiched between a comforter and mattress, she felt incredibly safe. Ignoring the fact that a murderer was sitting in a chair not twelve feet away, she did feel pretty calm. Calm enough to let herself sleep, really sleep. The only hitch was the nightmare that followed.

She wasn't entirely sure if it was a nightmare or not. She knew it was a dream, but she couldn't really file it under the same "nightmare" label as the one she'd had before at the motel with Ryan and Amy, the one where she died. This one was subtler, different. At least, that's how it started out. In the dream she was lying in bed on her side, facing away from the window and towards the door. She was warm and cozy and comfortable. It seemed like a pretty boring dream until she felt a hand creeping up her side and over her stomach. It seemed normal in her dream, but most things seem normal in dreams. Things like flying through space and being a mermaid and turning your house into a boat were normal in dreams. She looked back over her shoulder to see that John was laying in bed with her with his arm draped over her side. He was sans shirt and she could finally see just exactly what he was made of (at least made of in her dreams). He was unsurprisingly very muscular and there were some scars on his chest and arms. She rolled over to face him and snuggled into her pillow. He looked clean, like he'd taken a shower. He wasn't clean shaven but his scruff seemed more trimmed, and his short hair was untamed – bedhead. His eyes were closed but he raised his eyebrows when she rolled over in bed. He asked her something incoherent but in the dream she understood it. She also understood that, in the dream, they were both naked. Completely. It probably was something drawn from her memories of being in the shower and having to negotiate for a towel, but again it didn't seem out of place in the dream. No, it seemed normal. It seemed . . . _right_.

The sound of shoes scuffling against the floor had drawn the attention of her dream self to the end of the end. She was surprised to find John standing there, fully clothed in his dark blood-covered coat, jeans, and shirt. He was looming over her in the shadows with his pocketknife in hand. She looked back to the man beside her but instead of seeing John, it was the man who'd given them a ride. He was lying on the bed, glasses still on, throat slashed, staring up at the ceiling. Cat looked quickly back to John who was accusing her of cheating on him. She tried to say something but nothing came out of her mouth. The words "she doesn't talk" echoed in her head as she looked around desperately. All around her were the mangled and abused bodies of Dave, his wife and daughter, the Mexican boy from the fridge, and Edith. Cat shook her head and tried to say something but she again found herself mute. When she opened her eyes, she just saw John standing at the edge of the bed pointing to the space beside her, saying, "Look what you've done." When she turned all she saw was herself splayed out on the bed, her throat slashed from ear to ear. She yelped in her mind and turned around. There was John, swinging his pocketknife towards her.

She woke up before the knife connected with her, but she was half-way between a state of panic and unnatural serenity. It was strange. She looked around the bed to see she was still by herself (and still dressed in the too-large jeans and tank top) but John was no longer in the chair by the window. She slowly sat up and took in the room. It was still dark outside she could tell, but it seemed to be lightening. Had she slept through the entire night? She didn't see John and couldn't hear anyone in the bathroom so she figured he must've left.

_Why would he leave me_? She pulled off the covers and limped over to the window. Pulling back the curtain she peered outside but could only see the side parking lot. There were a few cars but not many. Retreating back into the room, she rubbed her arms and tried to think of what to do. Okay, so she'd been left alone in the motel. She could try to make a break for it (not that that'd really worked the last time, now she had a bad ankle), or she could wait. But did she really want to sit around and wait for John to come back for her? She didn't even know if he _was_ coming back. For all she knew, he could've ditched her. Or he may've gone out to get something and would be back shortly. Or he may've killed everyone in the motel and she actually was alone. Whatever it was, she had to think of something and fast.

She checked the bathroom just to make sure he really wasn't in the room. There was no one, so she decided to make her escape. The duffel bag was gone as well so she guessed he may've really left her for good. She was thankful to be rid of the man but she was also scared of what she'd do without him. How would she explain what happened? "Oh, yeah, I just followed the instructions of some strange man I gave a ride to who appeared in my motel room when I slept, then I was kidnapped by that man and he made me _kill_ some girl, and now here I am!" Right. That'd go over well. Would she go to the police? He'd know if she did, and he'd find her. Her wallet – her _driver's license_ with her full name and address – were back at that house, the one John said was his hideout. He could easily go back there and find out where she lived and go find her family. What if that's where he was headed to now? She had to get out of there.

Cat pulled on her sandals despite the fact that they were covered in dirt and pulled open the door. No one was in the hall so she began a brisk waddle towards the lobby. If she was going to leave she was going to do it fast. John had already paid for the night so there'd be no reason for the lady behind the counter to question her. Besides, it was early (or late?) enough that no one would be up. She was almost to the lobby now. She could see the shining glass doors illuminated by the overhead lights. The two armchairs and coffee table with a vase of flowers, the counter (which was missing the woman from before), the exit. She was almost there.

Cat practically sprinted, as best as she could with a sprained ankle, towards the exit. Before she could get out of the hall, though, John turned around the corner and nearly collided with her. She reeled back and stumbled into the wall. She was breathing heavy and her eyes were wide, scared. John was wearing his coat, the one Cat knew had a pocketknife hidden somewhere inside. He just stood there and stared at her. Finally he smiled a little bit.

"Where are you going?"

She looked past him, desperately hoping the woman was behind the counter now but she wasn't. She'd been so eager to leave that she hadn't actually come up with a good plan. She should've gone out the back exit.

"I woke up and you were gone," she finally said, looking at him. "I was worried . . . I thought you left me. I came to see . . . to see if you were still here."

Cat knew he knew she was lying but he didn't say anything about it. He just said, "I was getting us a ride."

"A ride?"

"Yes."

"Where to."

"Wherever he's going."

"He?"

"Our driver."

"Oh. . . Who . . . ?"

John looked back through the glass doors but Cat couldn't see anything. He turned back to her. "Do you have everything?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good. Let's go."

"Right now?"

"Is there any reason to stay?"

Cat could think of a few: a warm bed, somewhere safe with a lock on the door, _a warm bed_. She really just wanted the bed. But the memory of her dream laying naked in it with John then being surrounded by the dead bodies of his (and her) victims resurfaced and she shook her head.

"No, we can go."

"Good. Come on." He started off towards the doors.

"Where's your duffel bag?"

"It's already in the truck."

Cat hobbled after him through the doors and out into the cool morning. The sun wasn't even up yet, but streams of light blue and soft yellow were in the distance. It'd be bright soon. She followed him through the parking lot to an idling semi-truck. He pulled open the door and waited for her to reach him. She cast a wary glance around the lot before taking his hand and hoisting herself up into the cab. There really was no escape from him. She'd hoped and she'd been wrong. She really should have stayed in the room and locked the door.

John climbed in after her and closed the door. The duffel was on the ground at his feet. The driver was an older man with a thick moustache and beard. His hat was pulled down tight on his head and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbow. He nodded at Cat but she didn't say or do anything.

"Ya ready?" he asked John. He nodded in response. The engine rumbled as the semi-truck slowly made its way out of the lot and onto the road. Cat was swayed back and forth between the driver and John. She was uncomfortable being with either of them, exposed in her thin tank and unbrushed hair. She'd give anything to be stuck in a motel room on the rainy coast with Ryan and Amy, telling dumb jokes and watching soap operas. She'd rather be sick in bed or taking her Math test than be here. For half a second she thought she'd rather be dead than be here. John brushed his fingers against her arm and she wanted to vomit. This wasn't okay. This wasn't fun. She was so stupid. This was the dumbest thing she'd ever done. It seemed that as soon as she stepped foot out of the motel room she had with Ryan and Amy, it had only been a series of bad decisions. They didn't seem bad at the time but now they had snowballed into the worst situation she could possibly be in. All because she got scared and wanted to go home early.

_Now_, she thought mournfully, _I'll never go home. _

"So where are ya headed?" the driver asked. He looked from John to Cat then back to John. Obviously Cat wouldn't be the one answering the questions.

"We're heading back home."

"Oh yeah? Where's that?"

John looped an arm around Cat and pulled her closer to him. She could feel him smile at the driver.

"Mexico."

"_Really_?" the man asked, looking at him in surprise. Obviously he was expecting anyone who lived in Mexico to be Mexican. And John was definitely not Mexican.

"Yeah, it's our home for right now. Trying to get her citizenship before too long." He looked down at Cat and smiled. Obviously he was trying to use her now-tanned skin and dark hair to convince the driver that she hailed from the southern country. "We'd like to be back in the States before, you know," he reached down and put his hand on Cat's stomach. She tried to pull back but was met with John's other hand holding her in place. The driver glanced at her with a confused look. John explained, "We want the baby born in the U.S. It'll make him – or her – an automatic citizen. Less paperwork and waiting, you know?"

"Oh, _oh_. Right. Well congrats you two." The driver didn't comment on how young Cat looked, or how flat her stomach seemed to be for a supposedly pregnant woman, or how John literally could've been her father's age. It wasn't his business, Cat realized. He won't comment on it. He's a truck driver. He gets paid to shut up and drive.

Cat didn't like that John's hand was on her stomach, she didn't like that he was pretending she was his pregnant wife or girlfriend or _whatever, _and she really didn't like that he had managed to convince this driver that they were heading to Mexico. What she hated the most, though, was the fact that they probably were. Before long she was sure they'd be in Mexico, and then what? Her family would have no way to contact her or find her. That would be the end of her. Once they crossed the border, that would be the end of the American investigation into her disappearance. The U.S. would have no jurisdiction in Mexico, and unless the Mexican government decided that she was worthy enough to send people out to look for, she'd be just another tragedy lost in between the barriers of language and foreign relations. Suddenly the old house with a body in the fridge and killing room in the garage didn't seem too bad. Suddenly everything else seemed nicer. It was nicer; nicer than being dragged to Mexico and being forced to join this killer's group.

Cat drowned out the conversation that John and the trucker driver were having. She didn't want to hear it. She just wanted home. She wanted her mom and dad and her bed and her desk and her homework. She wanted normal; she didn't want to take anymore road trips or vacations. She'd rather sit at a school desk for six hours a day, seven days a week than be here another second. But as John rubbed her shoulder with one hand and drew little circles on her stomach with the other she knew that wasn't going to happen. She was trapped here, with John, with this trucker. She was trapped and she knew she was never going home.

No; she was going to Mexico.


End file.
